


An Alluring Companion.

by Michaelssw0rd



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Companions, Firefly AU, Fluff, Hair Washing, Harold Egret also makes an appearance :P, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Logan Pierce being an asshole I'm sorry, M/M, Massage, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 16:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16705699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: Harold is a genius, loner programmer, belonging to the elite and prestigious society. He gets invited to a party he can't get out of-- not without drawing too much attention to himself-- and Nathan encourages him to hire a Companion as a social buffer. Harold ends up hiring the services of John Reese.It goes exceptionally well.So well that Harold hires him again, and again, learning John's secrets and sharing his own, until he inevitably falls in love with the person he is paying to keep him company.(Set in Firefly Universe, but the knowledge of Firefly is not compulsory)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art: An Alluring Companion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16705324) by [mekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/pseuds/mekare). 



> Things firefly-naive people need to know: This is set about 500 years into the futures. Humans have colonized different star systems, ruled by a united government called the Alliance. The core-planets are wealthy and prosperous, the border planets are poor and neglected. And Companions are government approved elite escorts, which are well-respected members of the society.
> 
> This is it. It is my last entry for Person Of Interest Big Bang, and this fic was in my head for well over an year. It's such a relief to finally be posting it.  
> I need to convey my awe, and eternal gratitude towards mekare, whose art is frankly STUNNING, and just... *swoons over John in flowing robes*. Thank you for picking my fic, and making such magic for it.  
> Please go and give love to their gorgeous, _gorgeous_ art [HERE]().  
> Also... *offers her soul to mnemonicmadness*. Thank you sweetheart, for being the BEST cheerleader a person can ask for. You are a gem <3  
> And of course, sky. For being amazing, and for helping organize this fest and give all the pep talk and just being herself. This fandom is SO lucky to have you sweetheart <333

Harold stepped out of the building and fixed his scarf against the cold. Winters in Londinium were harsh, and he couldn’t wait to be back in his house and sit by the warmth of the fireplace. His hip ached like it often did during winters this cold. Maybe he should’ve relocated to his apartment in Osiris, but the Alliance had contracted him to upgrade their facial recognition software, and he was stuck in Londinium until that was over.

“Harold, wait!”

Harold paused when he heard Nathan’s voice, frowning. Nathan was supposed to be schmoozing the corporates right now, not chasing after him across the street.

“Nathan, what is it?”

“Nice to see you too,” Nathan huffed as he quickly caught up with him.

“I just met you an hour ago.”

“Well, it was a long hour.”

Harold looked at his friend, _really_ looked. The frustration in his eyes, the downturn of his lips and the strain lines on his forehead told him everything he needed to know.

“I take it the board didn’t agree?”

Nathan laughed, humorless. “Politics doesn’t care much for morality. Neither does security surveillance, according to them. It’s been the same way from the beginning, you know that.”

“We built the system that way for a reason,” Harold sighed.

“You. You built it that way for a reason. Well, the reason isn’t good enough for them.”

Harold squinted. “Wait a minute, do you agree with them? Do _you_ also think an open system would be better?”

Nathan looked taken aback; it made the knot in Harold’s chest loosen a little. “No, of course not. How can you even say that?”

Maybe Harold should’ve apologized, but Nathan wasn’t the only one who had had a long day. So he resumed his stride, shivering in the cold. Nathan followed him. After a while, the chill calmed the way his blood throbbed in his temple and made him remember his earlier question.

“Why did you chase me across the street anyway?”

He felt Nathan flinch beside him. It told him he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“About that…” Nathan looked at him sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pierce is having a party in his villa in Bellerephon.”

“So?” Nathan had always been the one to manage the more social side of their business, so he didn’t know what this was about.

“He invited you—” Before Harold could open his mouth to protest, he continued, “Not just IFT. _Specifically_ you. In front of all the contractors of Alliance Surveillance Unit. You know how he is. Made it obvious, and more importantly, _public_ , that a no show from you would be an offense.”

Harold groaned. “Nathan…”

“What? It’s not my fault the young billionaire is infatuated with you.”

“Obsessed,” Harold corrected. “Not infatuated, obsessed.”

“Same difference,” Nathan shrugged. Harold would’ve argued more but the teasing glint in his friend’s eyes told him that it would simply serve to amuse him.

Harold continued to walk, absolutely _not_ stomping his feet. Nathan laughed and put an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, Harold. Chin up. It will go fine… Hey, it might even be fun.”

Harold gave him a look that would’ve cowered even the mobsters on Whitefall, but Nathan was immune to it. “Tell you what would make it easy, _not going alone._ Take a Companion, and maybe Pierce would give you a wide berth.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a large circle of friends to choose from.”

“Harold.” Nathan stopped in his track. “I don’t mean a friend. I mean a _Companion._ A Guild trained one.”

“Oh.” Harold had honestly not considered that, and that was the only reason felt off-putted.

“Yes. Logan struts around with a Companion on all of his parties. Not many can afford one or can gain favor of the Guild for that matter. But you can. It would definitely make your evening more bearable, if not interesting.”

“No.”

“Oh come on. Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who think the Companions are just glorified escorts, because if you are, I have to say I’m disappointed. The Guild is so much more than that.”

Harold was already shaking his head. “Of course not. I have all the respect for the institution. The Companions I have met are some of the most, uh, exceptional humans I have come across. I can admire them and yet not want to hire them.”

Nathan shrugged and withdrew his hand from Harold’s shoulders. He sighed, loud and fake. “As you wish. But… just in case you change your mind.”

He slipped a card in Harold’s pocket. Harold knew it was easier to just let it be rather than argue about it. Nathan clapped him on his shoulder and stepped back.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have yet another board of stuck up businessmen to charm.” He winked obnoxiously before turning around and going back the way he came from.

Harold toyed with the card in his pocket and decided to throw it away once he reached home. He had work to do, and hiring a Companion was not one of them.

* * *

 

It took Harold three days before he finally admitted to himself that Nathan might have had a point. Taking a Companion along on the party would serve as a buffer he very much needed, and it would also help establish his position as a respectable member of the higher class society in the Alliance of Planets. As much as he despised the status, it was important to maintain it… for many reasons.

He couldn’t afford to lose the privileges afforded to Harold Crane. As he wasn’t one for occasional public appearances, lavish displays of money, or more distasteful ways of flaunting his wealth, taking a Companion was the most benign way to show his _appreciation_ for his status.

Nathan knew that. He also knew Harold would come to the conclusion himself, given time. He internally cursed his friend for knowing him too well, even as he contacted the Guild.

From there on it was easy. Harold Crane had both the money and the social standing to impress the Guild. He was directed towards a directory of Companions who were available on the dates he proposed, with their personal and professional details.

It felt uncomfortably like buying a product, except the product was a human being. Try as he might, Harold found it difficult to quell his discomfort. He browsed through the directory despite that, not sure what he was looking for, but sure that he would know it when he saw it.

His eyes lingered on a fair haired woman’s profile. Zoe Morgan. She looked stunning, also dangerous, and it was an attractive combination. But then he realized why she looked as familiar as she did. He had seen her with Logan Pierce a couple of times.

With a sigh, he swiped the holo, trying to find someone who didn’t make him feel like a pervert, or worse, a pedophile.

He almost swiped through the profile when he came across it. It displayed picture of a man, clad in elaborate satin robes, with a gold ring dangling from his right ear. He hadn’t been paying attention to the male Companions, not because of any personal preference, but more because the society expected to see a young debutante on a rich old man’s arm.

Yet, there was something about this man’s eyes, the steel glint in them in contrast with the softness of his barely there smile, that drew Harold in. Harold found himself opening the page and filling out a form, before he even made a conscious decision to do so.

John Reese, thirty four, trained on Sinhon. The profile did not give more information than that, but Harold was sure he had made the right choice. Now, the only thing to worry about was whether this Mr. Reese agreed with the sentiment as well.

A Companion chose their client after all, much like a client chose their Companion. And Harold didn’t have much to offer other than his wealth.

* * *

 

“Hello, Mr. Crane.”

Harold was more nervous than he wanted to admit. He had been relieved when Mr. Reese had accepted his proposal. The relief had quickly turned to alarm, when he realized that it meant they would have to holo-vid to seal the contract. The potential Companion seemed to read his anxiety on his face, because the smirk on his lips was equal parts comforting and teasing.

“Mr. Reese.”

“I guess there is no need for introductions; the paperwork we have gone through has been quite extensive,” Mr. Reese said, chuckling lightly.

Harold groaned when he recalled it. The Guild had strict rules about its clientele, and it was nothing if not thorough.

“While I wouldn’t want anyone else to go through the _extensive_ paperwork I was subjected to, I have to say the information exchange was quite one sided,” Harold complained.

“You know everything you need to know about me, Mr. Crane.” When Harold quirked his eyebrow at that, Reese laughed. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound. “Consider it part of my charm.”

Harold huffed, but nodded. “I am relieved to hear you accepted my offer; the Guild informed me you don’t often take off-world assignments.”

“They are inconvenient, yes. But I am not opposed to them, given it is for the right person.” Reese’s voice was low and sensual as he said that, and Harold could feel that he _meant_ it. They really were trained outstandingly in the art of making their client feel special. Despite knowing that, he felt a flush creep on his cheeks. He _was_ only human.

“Then, can I count on seeing you at Belerephon in a weeks’ time?”

“Always.” Reese smiled. “I find myself looking forward to it.”

Harold almost found himself saying that he shares the sentiment, but he refrained from it. Instead, he gave the details of where they would meet, finalizing the schedule for the day and the arrangements for their transport to and from the leisure planet. Reese heard it all with a serious face and a softness in his eyes that Harold tried not to focus on. Before he ended the video conference, he suddenly remembered.

“Oh, and Mr. Reese?”

“Yes, Mr. Crane.”

“Am I right in assuming you own something more conventional to wear? A suit... maybe?”

Reese made a face, looking mock affronted. “I’ll have you know this is a Peinfu, and is the height of fashion in all of Londinium.”

Harold looked at him, suddenly worried he had crossed a line of propriety somewhere. “I didn’t mean to cause any offense.”

Reese let him worry his lower lip for a moment, before grinning. “Just kidding, Harold. I’m yours for the evening, and it means I wear what you want me to wear. Would black do?”

Harold breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yes. Black is adequate. Thank you.”

“See you then, Harold. Holding my breath until then.”

“Don’t.” Harold couldn’t help but quip. “I don’t want a dead Companion, not after all the effort I’ve gone through to procure one.”

Reese laughed again, startled and honest. Harold wondered if they were taught that in the Guild too. “Looking forward to experiencing that sharp wit in person, then.”

“Later, Mr. Reese.”

Harold sat there for a few moments with a smile on his face. The prospect of a gala had suddenly started feeling less bleak.

Maybe Nathan had had a point about that as well.

* * *

 

“Drink, Harold?”

“Oh, I think I have already had quite enough. Thank you, Mr. Reese.” Harold shook his head at the offered glass.

“It’s nonalcoholic.” Reese smiled at him. There was a teasing glint to it that made Harold raise his eyebrows. “And you will find you want to take it, if you want to avoid talking to Miss overenthusiastic-and-heading-for-you.”

Harold glanced up in the direction that John had subtly nodded, and hastily grabbed the drink. John linked his arm around Harold’s and steered him in the opposite direction, making it look entirely natural. “So, you were saying something…” he said, purely to make conversation, but Harold took a large gulp of his fruity drink and nodded.

“Yes. I wanted to say… thank you. You are quite good at this.”

“Pleased to be of service.”

“No, really. You have made this event a lot more bearable than I could have hoped for.”

John squeezed his arm lightly, “It _is_ what you hired me to do, Harold.”

“Yeah. Right, of course.” Harold shut his mouth. He had no idea why he had felt the compulsion to thank John for his company despite having paid quite generously for it.

Maybe it had something to do with how easy it was to be around people—stiff, obnoxious, self-important people on top of that—with John by his side. The man knew just how to distract others with a comment on the tailoring of their clothes, with a quip about the newest political scandals, or just by sliding next to Harold and rescuing him. He also seemed to know when Harold was actually interested a conversation and gave him a wide berth, and if Harold was not wrong, he also distracted the people who tried to interrupt him.

Or maybe, it had nothing to do with how John behaved and everything to do with how he _looked._ Harold had been a target of envious looks from the moment he entered the hall with John by his side. Hell, he even felt jealous of _himself_. John looked like a dream; like someone thought up the best image of what a human male looks like, sculpted him perfectly, and then made him wear a suit so expertly tailored, so exquisite, that even _Harold_ couldn’t help the sartorial envy.

“You are staring,” John commented with a smirk in his voice.

So he was, Harold realized, his gaze lingering at the exposed skin of John’s open collar. Hastily, he pulled his eyes away. “Sorry.”

“Oh, I wasn’t complaining.” John gently touched his wrist. “It is quite flattering really. So, you approve of the suit then.”

“Huh,” Harold was annoyed to find himself so speechless. “Yes, of course. Excellent craftsmanship there. The embroidery on the cuffs is a particularly nice touch. I am tempted to ask you to introduce me to your atelier later.”

John tilted his head a little. “Now, I can’t be seen selling trade secrets.”

“Oh please. Like the suit has much to offer to one that looks as gorge—well, um, what I mean to say is, you have nothing to be afraid of. One needs a particular charisma to pull of an attire like that. Something which I’m afraid I’m sorely lacking.”

They had reached a corner of the room. John chose to stop, lean against the wall and frown at him. “As flattered as I am, I must disagree.”

“What?”

“I think you would look absolutely delectable in fine silk, Harold.” John bit his lower lip and seemed to be envisioning the image.

It was all Harold could do not to blush. He finished the remaining drink in his hand with a large gulp and reminded himself that John was only here, saying all these things, because Harold had _paid_ him to do so. Nothing more.

Before he could come up with an appropriate answer that didn’t give away how much John’s flirting was affecting him, someone interrupted their moment.

“John?” Harold turned around to watch a woman with light hair coming their way. “John Reese?”

“Zoe.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“It’s good to see you too.” John smiled, before bending down and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I thought you didn’t take off world assignments.” Zoe pulled back to look at him accusingly.

“I don’t.” John turned towards Harold, “But some people are worth stretching your boundaries for.” When he turned back towards Zoe, she had a teasing grin on her face. “You know how it is.”

“Oh I sure do.” She smacked John lightly on his arm, before turning to Harold and giving him a once over.

“I’m Harold Crane.” Harold thought it was high time to introduce himself, flushing at the scrutiny.

John bent closer to Zoe, fake whispering. “He programmed the Alliance Surveillance network.”

“I did not!” When John just looked at him, he acquiesced, “Well, I didn’t do it alone.”

“Impressive. I see what you mean, John.” Then she flipped her hair and extended her hand. “I’m Zoe Morgan.”

Harold raised her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it, making her smile approvingly. “And a gentleman too. I should give you my number, for you know, next time.”

“Hey!”

Miss Morgan laughed, raising her hands in placation.

“As lovely as it is to see you, aren’t you here with someone?” John asked.

“Oh. He is busy socializing; has even forgotten he has called me here for tonight. It’s his party after all. His name is—“

“Pierce.” Harold said, not looking at the lady but behind her, where the man he had been trying, and succeeding, to avoid all night had just materialized.

“Zoe darling, there you are. I was hoping to introduce you to some guests… well, hello there!” Peirce stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with mischief. Harold suppressed his urge to groan.

“Mr. Crane. I see you made it.”

“Mr. Pierce. Of course I did. How could I not, when you invited me so… adamantly.” Harold bristled at that.

“Well, you know, us billionaires and our fragile egos. Can’t have my favorite friends ditching my parties now, can I?” Pierce said animatedly, slapping his arm.

Harold straightened the crease of his sleeve and replied, without looking at him. “Of course not.”

“Oh and what do we have here. Harry, you sly dog. A Companion, and a fine one at that. Wherever did you find him?”

“Through the Guild. The same way that you found Miss Morgan, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Pierce turned towards Zoe, and wrapped an arm around her. “Oh, no, no. You see, I only get the best. And Zoe, she is _the best._ I saw her at a party two years ago, and since then, she is the one for me. Although now…” He ran a hand down John’s arm, and Harold felt himself stiffen at the touch, even as John stayed composed. “Now… things are getting interesting.”

“Logan,” Zoe turned towards him, sweet and coy. “Are you really implying you want to replace me?”

“Not just yet, darling. Not just yet.” Pierce turned towards Harold. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

John took the matters in his own hands then. He stepped closer to Harold, and smiled down at him, before looking at Pierce with a sharp gaze. “I’m John Reese. Harold’s plus one for the evening.”

“John.” Pierce closed his eyes and repeated the name like it was the finest chocolate on his tongue. “I can almost feel it, the potential. I don’t suppose I can interest you in the next dance?”

Harold felt something tighten in his stomach. John seemed to sense it, because he squeezed Harold’s arm lightly. “Not today. I find I am quite content where I am.”

“Shame,” Pierce tutted. A waiter with a tray of drinks passed by; Pierce grabbed one and gulped it down before turning back to Zoe. “That reminds me, guests. They are _dying_ to meet you.” Leading her back towards the party, he nodded towards Harold and John. “See you later, Mr. Crane. Thanks for showing up. John, I’ll be seeing you around.”

And then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Harold sagged in relief. As unpleasant as that was, it could’ve gone much worse. When he opened his eyes again, he saw John in front of him. “I think that calls for more alcohol, don’t you think?”

Instead of answering him, Harold just grabbed the drink John was holding and drank it down, much like Pierce had done moments before. All he got in response was an amused chuckle. He wasn’t sure the warmth he felt inside him was because of the alcohol or that sound.

“Is he always like that?” John asked after few moments.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Harold shook his head, remembering all the times he had encountered that erratic billionaire.

“I suddenly see why you felt compelled to hire a Companion.” John took the glass from him, touching his wrist again. “I am glad you choose me.”

Harold took a moment to look at John as he politely thanked the waiter and put the glass on the tray. The man was as gorgeous, polite, and was also a surprisingly good company. Unexpectedly, despite the awkward moments, he didn’t want this evening to be over.

“Me too, Mr. Reese,” he confessed, earning a blindingly beautiful smile as a reward.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t need to go the event he was invited to. And he definitely didn’t need a Companion to accompany him.

It didn’t change the fact that he _wanted_ to.

For once, he didn’t think to deny himself the simple pleasures in life. Which was how he found himself exiting the shuttle craft on Aeris that evening, with Mr. Reese holding out a hand for support. Once again, he didn’t need it, and yet he found himself reaching out for the solid feel of Mr. Reese’s palm against his own, his eyes seeking out the amusement in John’s eyes.

“Didn’t take you for an art hippie, Harold,” John commented as they made their way towards the large ostentatious building that was hosting tonight’s event—a Cultural celebration of Human Civilization—displaying priceless artifacts from all over the ‘verse, including some that were claimed to be from Earth-that-was.

“Hardly,” Harold scoffed. “It’s only natural to be curious about where we came from, about our history.”

“I take it back.” Harold could hear the smirk in his voice without even looking at him. “You look like someone who would belong in an ancient library, full of real paper books.”

“Funny you should say that.”

“Funny?” John stopped, turning towards him. “You’re kidding me.”

Harold couldn’t help the up-tilt of his lips at that. “I don’t kid, Mr. Reese.”

“You own the Londinium library?”

“That, and half a dozen more spread throughout the system. The Alliance was going to shut them down due to the lack of funds. It would’ve been a real shame to let that happen.”

“Why?” There was baffled awe in John’s voice. Harold simply shrugged.

“Somebody had to. And I could.”

John resumed walking then. “You have a thing for lost causes, don’t you?”

Harold tried not to stiffen. John could’ve had no idea how close to the mark that observation was. “I don’t believe in them.”

They didn’t say much the rest of the way. A few minutes later, it started to drizzle. Before Harold could worry about taking shelter, John held open an umbrella over both of them. Harold had not even realized John had been carrying one. Taking note of his surprise, John smiled a little. “I checked the weather forecast.”

“Thank you,” Harold said gratefully, shifting a little closer to John to protect himself from the rain.

“It’s my job, Harold.”

The walk up to the entrance wasn’t that long, and they reached it mostly untouched by the rain. As John sorted out his umbrella at the counter, Harold approached the lady at the check-in point.

“Crane, Harold.” He waited until she found his name on the datapad. “And guest.”

The middle aged lady looked up, sliding the datapad towards him to confirm his identity. Harold placed his palm on it, waiting for it to scan, and watched the lady’s eyes widen when they landed on Harold’s Companion.

He couldn’t blame her.

Clad in deep blue robes that he had called a _Hanfu_ and with his hair slicked back, John looked absolutely divine. He belonged here, among the priceless artifacts, and Harold only hoped he would be able to tear his eyes away from him long enough to actually look at the other displays.

“Oh my.” The lady bent towards him and whispered conspiratorially as he slid the datapad back. “He’s gorgeous.”

Harold couldn’t help it: couldn’t help the way his lips took on a possessive smirk, and his eyebrows waggled. John was indeed gorgeous. And for tonight, he was _Harold’s._

John was waiting for him when he finished with the check in, and Harold took a moment to appreciate the sight. That’s what he was here for, to appreciate the beautiful things the universe had to offer, and he would be amiss in the endeavor if he didn’t start with John.

His blue robes were lined with digitally printed silk, which on anyone else might have looked extravagant but John carried it with a regal air. Tied around his waist with a belt, the robes were flowing, touching the floor. The only thing missing was a sword, and John would’ve looked like a legendary samurai warrior from the old earth stories.

Harold’s lips twitched at the image of John with a sword, going through the battle moves with his fluid grace.

John must have noticed his scrutiny, because he closed the distance between them, and murmured quietly in his ear. “You’re staring again.” Harold opened his mouth to say something, but John took a hold of his arm and added, “Glad you didn’t insist on the suit, aren’t you?”

Harold swallowed, before getting his nerves under control. “This is a cultural exhibition.”

“So?”

“There is very little to criticize about your choice of cultural attire.”

John chuckled. It was a heartwarming sound. “Whatever you say, Harold.”

Harold was going to address the disbelief in John’s tone, but his attention was suddenly caught by something else. He moved forward reflexively, his hands pressing against the glass of the display.

“Harold?”

“You know what this is, Mr. Reese?”

He knew his eyes were bright with excitement as he glanced at John and then back at the display.

“No. But I am guessing you are about to enlighten me.”

“It’s the Xerox Alto, oldest known computer system known to man, all the way from earth that was.”

“Interesting.”

“I wonder if it is up for sale, or even for borrowing. It will be a tremendous learning experience to figure out how it works.” Harold could not keep the thread of eagerness out of his voice.

Beside him, John laughed, low and amused. “You like taking things apart, don’t you?”

Harold pulled himself away from the display with sheer force of will. He glanced at John, who obviously wasn’t expecting an answer to his quip. He gave one anyway. “Only if I can put them back together again.”

He ignored John’s surprised catch of breath and wandered through the exhibition. He met a few people around, nodding at them politely and sometimes holding a small, cordial dialogue. It was essential for Harold Crane to be seen around, and for once it was something that Harold was enjoying as well. He knew it helped that John was beside him. A lot of unwanted attention was diverted away from him, all prying eyes seeking out John first, so Harold could go unnoticed and enjoy the exhibition he came here for.

There were a lot of displays that held his attention but nothing as much as the giant display of a planetary system he had never been a part of, yet felt a certain kinship with anyway.

“The solar system,” said a soft voice beside him.

Harold turned around to look at him in surprise, eliciting a smile. “They did have basic astronomy classes in Companion-School, Harold.”

Chastised, Harold shook his head, feeling the flush rise on his cheeks. John noticed it too, because he raised his hand and gently caressed Harold’s cheek. It made him blush even more.

Harold cleared his throat and stared at the model again, trying to focus on the moving planetoids rather than on the man beside him. “Magnificent,” Harold murmured, his eyes following the movement of the rings of Saturn.

“Yes,” John agreed. Harold couldn’t bring himself to look at him, but the weight in John’s voice, the fondness in it, told him that John wasn’t talking about the display.

Getting his frayed nerves under control and reminding himself that he wasn’t exactly a sixteen year old, he let loose his fascination. For once he knew his company would listen, for he had been paid to do exactly that.

“Nine planets,” Harold mentioned, pointing at the small white sphere. “The artist was feeling sentimental.”

“For good reason. Just because it’s small and distant, doesn’t mean it should be abandoned.”

“Pluto did incite its fair share of philosophical debates,” Harold felt his lips quirk up. “For example, the artist conveniently forgot to also illustrate the four other dwarf planets of similar significance.”

“ _Similar_ significance?” John raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and Harold huffed at the sight, thoroughly distracted.

“Don’t play dumb, Mr. Reese. It doesn’t become—“

“Egret!” A voice called out. The name, and the venom in those words froze Harold’s blood, long before he slowly turned around and saw the glinting silver metal in the person’s hand.

Harold raised his hands slowly, recognizing the deranged look on the man’s face, just as acutely as he recognized who he was. One rapid movement and he would have a hole in his chest. John seemed to recognize it as well, because he slowly raised his hands as well. Then, cautiously, he tried to nudge Harold to a side step in front, covering him.

Harold wasn’t having any of that. These weren’t John’s demons.

“I’m sorry,” Harold said to the gun-man, sincerely, and meaning it.

“Sorry? You’re sorry? You said you would protect them, hide them. You failed. They came for them… my daughter, my wife. And now I find that you’re the one who designed this gorram surveillance system. That you are the reason they were in danger in the first place, Egret! Or should I call you, _Crane._ ”

Harold flinched at the way he spat out the words, the gun shaking in his hand, but his finger sure on the trigger.

“Please put the gun down. We can talk.”

“You think I’m here to talk?” the man laughed dementedly. Harold glanced around to see why no security had arrived yet, but they were in the most isolated corner of the museum at the moment. “No. I am done talking. It’s time for you to pay for what you have done.”

“There is no need to get hasty here.” It was John, his voice tempered and calm. “I am sure there is a reasonable explanation for whatever grievances you hold.”

“Shut up,” The man waved the gun at John’s head, making Harold tense up.

“I’m just trying to prevent you from doing something you would regret later. We can help you.”

“I said, _shut up!”_

Damn all the need for secrecy. He couldn’t let John get hurt because of _his_ mistakes. He threw caution to the wind and took a step closer.

“Yousaf.” He remembered his name. Of course he remembered his name. It was hard to forget the people he had failed. “I am sorry about Tasha and Sibel. I really am. But I am the one you are angry at, just don’t hurt anyone else.”

Yousaf turned to him again, his eyes ablaze with rage that was well earned. “You’re right,” he said, and Harold knew in that moment that it was over.

There was a determination in the set of Yousaf’s jaw, a sudden steadiness in his hand that hadn’t been there before. Harold was almost expecting it when the loud sound rang in the air.

He wasn’t expecting to be pushed away and fall on the floor though. Wasn’t expecting the bullet to be lodged in the wall behind him because Mr. Reese had grabbed the man’s hand with lightening quick efficiency, diverting his aim.

It must have been the shock, because it took him a moment to process what was happening in front of him. In mere moments, John had Yousaf in a chokehold, and had his gun lying dismantled on the ground.

“Alright, Harold?” John’s frantic eyes found his and stayed until Harold nodded.

“Well then,” John spoke in the ear of their assailant, his voice chillingly threatening. “Let’s see if we can’t talk like civilized members of the Alliance instead.”

They didn’t get a chance to talk though, because the security arrived then having heard the sound of gunfire. John gently helped Harold to his feet, and they answered the quick questions they were asked, before being ushered out of the room into the common lobby while the security started the process of evacuating the building.

John had his arm around Harold’s shoulder as they sat. Harold felt his leg throb due to his fall to the ground but that was nothing compared to the ache in his chest and his mind, as he waited for John to ask.

John was a clever man. He must have figured it out, or at least started suspecting something. But the minutes ticked by and yet John stayed quiet, rubbing soothing circles on Harold’s back which was tense with anticipation.

“Are you okay, Harold?” is what he asked, when he finally opened his mouth.

Harold turned to look at him, baffled that this was the question he chose. The genuine worry in John’s eyes stopped him short.

“Yeah.” Harold nodded, “I am alright. Thanks to you.”

John shrugged, evading the pointed look, so Harold pushed. It would delay the inevitable a little more. “I wasn’t aware I was hiring a bodyguard.”

John’s arm dropped from Harold’s back, his smile suddenly becoming brittle. “I am a Companion.”

Harold raised his eyebrows at that. “And?”

“And that means I am exactly everything you need me to be.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Harold was in no position to pry anyway. He was more grateful than he could say for the discretion John was showing. It was least he could to do to return the gesture.

“Well then, I am grateful for your presence, Mr. Reese.”

The arm came around his shoulders again, squeezing lightly. “As am I.”

* * *

 

Harold’s shoulders were stiff and there was an ache building in the back of his spine, a throbbing pain in his temples. Harold was self-aware enough to know he had brought this on himself by sitting on his uncomfortable chair and coding for the last three days, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

The discomfort caused by giving his mind free time to wander was worse than this.

So he ground his teeth, rubbed his temple with his thumb and kept typing.

A few minutes later, he saw someone put a cup next to his keyboard and realized he wasn’t alone.

“I don’t drink coffee, Mr. Reese.”

“Sencha green tea.” Came soft and amused voice. “One sugar.”

That broke through his forced determination and he turned around, raising his eyebrow. John was standing next to him and smiled at his expressions. “It’s my job to pay attention.”

Harold thought about their meetings and tried to recall if he had ever ordered drank tea in John’s company, coming up with just one single occasion. He knew he looked impressed, because John’s smile turned smug.

“It’s just tea, Harold. I haven’t guessed your favorite color yet.”

If Harold hadn’t clamped down on his impulse to answer, he would’ve said _blue_. As it was, he couldn’t help himself from thinking it, not while looking at John. He hadn’t realized he had any preference for colors, not until looking at John clad in deep blue robes with black accents. The cloth looked satin soft, and Harold had the sudden urge to rub it through his fingers.

John noticed his gaze and preened, stepping back until he was leaning against the wall and staring at him. Harold found his gaze going up to John’s arms, which were on display through the loose cloth, to the open V of his neck.

He looked comfortable, in his clothes and under the scrutiny… exactly opposite of what Harold felt.

To stop himself from staring longer, Harold took a sip of his tea and barely suppressed the moan of delight.

He wasn’t raised to be discourteous, so he looked at John and nodded. “Thank you. This is quite good.”

“Tea is traditional for Companions,” John said. When Harold made an inquiring noise at that, he continued. “You might not know that, but our first meeting was quite unorthodox. Traditionally, a Companion meets their client the first time through tea serving ceremony. We are quite extensively trained in how to brew it perfectly."

The words sobered him up, reminding him why he was so tense and why John was here. The smile fell off of John’s lips as well, and Harold wondered if John had the ability to read minds after all.

“Why did you call me here, Mr. Crane?”

Harold slowly put his cup down and steepled his fingers. He took a deep breath, knowing he was crossing a line, but he had to _know._

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

John didn’t do him the disservice of feigning ignorance. He stayed where he was, completely relaxed. Somehow that grated on Harold’s nerves even more.

“I told you. It’s my job. We _are_ taught basic self-defense in the Guild.”

“Don’t try to bluff me Mr. Reese. I read up and asked around. What you did was hardly self-defense, and given your history, you can hardly blame me for being suspicious.”

Now, John stiffened. Harold found some kind of vicious satisfaction in the fact. “Did you do a background check on me?”

“Nothing the Guild hadn’t already done. You don’t seem to have any record before you joined them when you were seventeen, quite a late age by Guild standards.”

“Why?” The dangerous undertone in John’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by Harold.

“I’m an important man. And a very private one. People have tried to get to me before.”

John finally pushed himself off from the wall and stepped closer. “If you didn’t trust me, you could simply not call me again. There was no reason to go through all this… interrogation.”

John was right. Harold had debated simply letting the Companion go. He had barely managed to learn much about Harold anyway. Yet, he knew more than even Nathan did. Harold found himself irrationally reluctant to never see John again.

“I don’t like being lied to. Especially not by someone who I have hired.”

John visibly bristled at that, his expressions become harsher. “You have paid for my time and company, Harold. Not even all your money can buy my soul. I could ask you about _Egret_ , but I wouldn’t, because I know how to mind my own business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I have had enough of being humiliated by my client.”

John turned around and was already at the door when Harold realized, quite desperately, that he didn’t want him to leave.

“John,” he called, low enough that John could’ve ignored him. “Please, wait.”

John stopped with his back to him. Harold knew it was up to him to take it from there. To fix this somehow. He swallowed around the constriction in his throat and made himself say it. “I am sorry. That was out of line.”

John’s shoulders relaxed at his words, and slowly, he turned around. His face was still guarded though, and Harold hated that he had brought that look on his face.

“I was scared,” Harold admitted. “But that’s not an excuse to be rude. I apologize for that.”

“Someone ever tell you, you’re paranoid?” John asked.

Even through the strain in his voice, it was similar enough to their usual banter that it made Harold laugh. “Yeah. Yeah… I have heard that one before. But let me tell you a secret… Only the paranoid survive.”

John chuckled and shook his head, but didn’t say anything in reply. He stood there, staring at Harold. Finding himself oddly nervous, Harold picked up his cup and took another sip, grimacing at the tepid liquid. John chuckled again.

“I can brew you another cup.”

“No. That’s quite alright. I can do it myself.” Harold pushed himself off the chair and couldn’t suppress the groan of discomfort. His body protested to the abuse he had put it through.

John took a step closer, concern evident on his face. Harold raised a hand to halt him.

“You’re in pain,” John stated.

“Hardly the worst I have ever experienced, Mr. Reese. Nothing a little rest won’t cure.” It was a lie. This pain would follow him for days, and John could tell that.

“Am I right in assuming you didn’t have any plans when you called me today?”

Harold felt his face fall. “Yes, Mr. Reese. I am sorry for wasting your time; I assure you that you will be adequately recompensed for it. If you want to leave, I’ll understand.”

A smile formed on John’s face, much like the ones he had shared on previous occasions, full of mischief and fondness. Harold found his heart kicking up even if he felt trepidation about what John will say next.

John didn’t disappoint.

“On the contrary, I have something much better in mind.”

John made his way towards the bedroom door. Curious, Harold followed. Once there, John pulled back the covers back and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at Harold expectantly.

When Harold stood there, dumbfounded, he gestured with his hand impatiently. “Well, come on then.”

“What?”

John titled his head and the smile on his face was alarmingly coy. “Strip,” he said, saccharine sweet.

Harold flushed. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands and how to string a sentence together. “Mr. Reese,” he knew he sounded appalled, because the grin on John’s face became even wider. “I know you are used to certain… what I mean to say is, you’re a Companion, and I respect that, but it doesn’t mean I want to have… well. I require consent from the people I involve in sexual activities with, and I don’t believe I find myself comfortable with this arrangement…”

He saw the indulgent expressions on John’s face and trailed off. “You aren’t suggesting intercourse.” He realized, suddenly.

John laughed. It was a sound that both soothed Harold, and flustered him even more. “No, Harold. While my _consent_ will hardly be an issue here,” when Harold sputtered, John didn’t let him interrupt. “I do believe I can tell when my client is inclined towards sexual activities.” Harold wanted to say he was most definitely inclined, but he kept his mouth shut. “So no. I’m not suggesting sex. I was hoping we could do something for your pain.”

When Harold raised his eyebrows in question, he explained, gesturing to the bed. “I was thinking, a massage. If only you’re comfortable with that.”

Harold thought about it for a moment. On one hand, it was showing vulnerability that he was loathe to do, but on the other hand, the prospect of a massage sounded heavenly. In the end the ache in his spine won, and he shrugged.

“I’m amenable to that.”

John’s face lit up. “You won’t regret it,” he said, standing up as Harold got closer. “I have been told I have magical hands.”

Harold found himself blushing and was sure the implications in John’s words were deliberate. He threw John a warning glare that absolutely didn’t faze him. He told Harold to take off his shirt and lie down in bed, as he went looking for something.

Extremely self-conscious, Harold followed his instructions. He felt small and exposed lying there, the secrets that were etched on his skin that he normally hid with under his clothes, out in the open. They wouldn’t tell much to a normal person, but Harold had already deduced that John was anything but ordinary. He could string together separate pieces of information, and soon he would be able to unravel Harold.

The thought terrified him. But not enough to make him push John away.

When John came back into the room, Harold turned his face away, not brave enough to watch John’s scrutiny. He knew what he looked like, he knew where his bones had misaligned, knew his scars were telling his life story without needing any words. He had never been ashamed of it, but now, he found himself wishing he was a little more whole; a little less distasteful to look at.

He expected John to ask, anyone would’ve, but the only sound was a small intake of breath and then sound of John moving closer. It was his turn to gasp when he felt warm trickle of liquid on his back.

“Sorry. Should’ve warned you. It’s just oil,” John apologized, as he settled beside him on his bed. Harold still didn’t turn around. He wanted to ask where John found oil in his house, but found that he didn’t want to speak, afraid of breaking something he couldn’t even name.

“Can I?” John asked permission to begin the massage, and Harold nodded jerkily.

The first touch of John’s warm palm on his back made him stiffen, but John didn’t let that make him pull away. Instead he smoothed his hand down the spine, leaving a trail of goose bumps down his path. It would be impossible to miss Harold’s strain, and that was why he was relieved when John didn’t comment on it. Instead, he started speaking, all casual.

“Usually, I would prefer to have my scented oils along with me, for a proper massage. But with time I have learned the value of carrying a little something with me, so this is better than cooking oil at least.” His spoke slowly, his soothing voice and touch making Harold relax a little. His hands were firm and sure, knowing exactly how to move, and his voice was hypnotic. “You will be surprised how multipurpose a vial of oil is. I have used it to get a client’s rings off, to massage a client’s twisted ankle, and once one of my clients borrowed it to remove her makeup. And then there are of course it’s more… carnal… uses. Very rarely do you get to use it for its proper purpose though. So it is a delight to do so.”

He kept speaking, shifting from one random story to another, never once commenting on Harold’s malformed spine, on the obvious scars from a crude surgery that was all but obsolete in this day and age. Slowly, Harold felt himself melt under the combined warmth of his touch and voice.

A while later, John trailed off, leading to a comfortable silence as Harold felt the knots in his back give, feeling himself become more pliant than he had felt in a while. With the relief of pain came the rush of exhaustion, and both of them combined led him to lower the barriers he hadn’t done in a long while, if ever.

He blamed that for his next words, because they startled him as much as they startled John.

“I was born on Santo, under the light of a white sun,” he divulged without prompting. The hand on his back stilled, and Harold held his breath. Then, without a comment, John continued his massage. Harold sighed in relief.

The quiet made it easy for him to continue. “Yeah. You know how it is on border planets. Terraforming always leaves something to be desired. On Santo, it was the genes for mineralization of the bones.”

“The Alliance…” John started, but Harold cut him off, his words harsh.

“The Alliance doesn’t care what happens to an unprofitable border planet, or to its thousands of citizens. So many die because their bones are too brittle, because they break too easy and don’t heal afterwards. All things considered, I was lucky.”

John pressed his palm into the sore spot on his spine. The pressure helped ground him, in a way he was sure was deliberate on John’s part. He really was remarkable at this.

“You were in an accident,” John said, his fingers almost caressing the surgical marks on his back.

“Yes.” Harold swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yes. I was. Found someone to put the broken parts of me back together again. They don’t quite fit, but I am never ungrateful.”

John was quiet after that. After a while, Harold thought maybe John was over the subject. It was a big revelation to digest after all. Harold let himself drift off in the calmness of the moment. Then, almost reluctantly, John spoke again.

“You’re quite resourceful, Harold. Surely you know there are ways to…”

“No.” Harold turned his face to look at John for the first time since he entered the room with the oils. “No,” he said again, his expressions firm. At John’s confused look, Harold swallowed again, his throat suddenly dry. Hoarsely, he explained. “How can I dare, when _they_ can’t?”

John looked at him for a moment, gauging his expressions, before he nodded. Unless Harold was mistaken, there was something like respect in John’s eyes. Flushing at his outburst, Harold hid his face in the pillow again. He had revealed more than he had planned, but somehow he was sure John wouldn’t use this against him. He felt unburdened… weightless, in a way that was more than just the release of pain.

John didn’t thank him, didn’t say anything about his confession, but Harold could read it in his touch anyway. As if understanding how heavily the balance of scales was tippled in John’s side by now, Harold heard him say.

“I was born on Deadwood.”

Harold stiffened. Deadwood. That was Reaver territory. How did John go from there to the Guild? What kind of childhood did he have? Was that why he knew how to fight like the way he did?

Harold wanted to ask him a million questions, but he had already learned his lesson today. This wasn’t something he could demand. This was an exchange, with more meaning than the contract that they had signed.

So he kept his mouth shut and let John’s rhythmic movements wash away the questions, until he felt his eyelids becoming heavy. He didn’t resist the pull of sleep, knowing he was safe here, in his safe house, alongside John.

* * *

 

“I’m hearing you have become quite a social butterfly lately, Mr. Crane.”

Harold felt someone slide into the seat next to him. He sat up straighter in alarm, but the familiar voice made him relax again.

“Since when have you started listening to idle gossip, Mr. Ingram.”

He didn’t have to look at Nathan to know he was grinning. “Since always, Harold. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“In that case, I would like it if you showed some restraint in spreading more gossip about my person.”

This time Nathan laughed, clapping Harold in his shoulder. “Me? And restraint? That’s a lovestory that can never be.”

Harold let himself shoot Nathan an annoyed look, but he knew it wasn’t really effective. Nathan always incited too much fondness in him to be really annoyed.

“The show is about to start, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“Yes. _The show_. Seriously, you don’t even need me to spread gossip. You’re doing a terrific job by yourself. Opera, Harold? Really?”

Harold’s eyes spotted John making his way towards Harold. A smile crept on his face that he didn’t even try to hide. “I am indulging myself.”

“Yes.” Nathan’s gaze tracked his, and his voice was too meaningful to ignore. Harold valiantly tried to ignore it anyway.

John was close enough to overhear, so Nathan bent closer and whispered in Harold’s ear. “Just remember to give me a special shout out on your wedding.”

Harold didn’t get an opportunity to snark back, because John reached them. He looked questioningly at Harold, and Harold felt himself compelled to make the introductions.

“Nathan, this is Mr. Reese. Mr. Reese, meet Nathan Ingram—“

“Harold’s friend, who is eternally grateful to you for teaching him that there’s more to life than being a hermit.”

John’s look of confusion gave way to a bashful smile. Harold wanted to warn him not to give any inch to Nathan because he would take a mile, but John nodded. “The pleasure is all mine, really.”

Nathan gave him a thoughtful once over. Then he smirked. “So I can tell. Well then, I won’t keep you from your _pleasure_ any longer. I don’t want to have my ears bleed anyway.”

With a meaningful look at Harold, that was part mischief and part curiosity, Nathan left. Harold let out a breath of relief. The meeting could’ve gone much more awkward…there really was no telling with Nathan. He loved his friend, he really did, but the man had never heard of the word subtlety.

John settled in the chair Nathan had just vacated and passed Harold the cup of tea he had gone to procure.

“Thank you.” Harold sipped the drink. Now that he had experienced what a cup of tea brewed by John tasted like, this was significantly subpar, but he didn’t comment. “And I’m sorry about Nathan.”

John bit his lip in amusement. “Don’t be. I am inclined to agree with his assessment of our tonight’s activities.”

“I assure you, opera is very cultured and sophisticated expression of music.”

John just raised his eyebrows, disbelief written on his face. Harold huffed.

“I let you expand my sartorial choices, now let me educate you in your musical ones.” Harold gestured towards the clothes he was wearing. Nothing too extravagant, but on John’s encouragement he had forgone his usual suits and worn a silk one, with embroidery on the lapels and the cuffs. John gave him a once over, all too appreciative to be mistaken for anything else.

John’s hand came to rest on his as the lights dimmed and the opening music begun to play. Before the show could start, John bent closer towards him and whispered.

“I was right.”

“Hmm?”

“You _do_ look absolutely delectable in fine silks.”

Harold thanked heavens that the lights were too low for his blush to be seen.


	3. Chapter 3

Two months, a traditional tea ceremony, and two unnecessary but extremely enjoyable social outings later, Harold sat in front of his terminal and wondered how much he trusted John Reese.

He found the answer was: _enough_.

With that in mind, he pressed the button to connect him to John.

While he waited for the call to connect, he closed his eyes and almost gave in to the urge to back out, but everyone needed someone to trust and going to Whitefall alone was far from ideal. Sure, he could’ve hired some local muscle, like he always did, but he found himself wanting to take a leap of faith.

Doubt nagged at him. Everything considered, John was a registered Companion and under direct command of the Alliance. What he was asking of him was no less than treason.

Something in him still wanted the choice to lie with John though.

Before he could change his mind, his virtual screen lighted up, and John’s face appeared in it. John’s hair were wet, and he looked like he was fresh out of shower. Harold quelled his entirely inappropriate wish to run his fingers through John’s hair and spoke.

“Afternoon, Mr. Reese.”

“Harold,” the delight in John’s voice couldn’t have been faked. Nobody was that good of an actor. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

Harold wasn’t expecting to call this soon either, and then Elias had called. “Something unexpected came up,” he said. The smile on John’s face dimmed.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” Harold shook his head. “Nothing out of ordinary. I just require some company on a trip to border planets next week. I was wondering if you might be available.”

John looked conflicted, and Harold felt his heart sink. “I know it’s too sudden a request. If you have prior commitments, I will understand. You will, of course, be generously recompensed for the—“

John had already raised his hand and was shaking his head. “No. That’s not it. I have a few assignments, but nothing that can’t be rescheduled. Just…” He looked almost nervous when he asked, “Which planets?”

“The ones of Georgia star system. Regina and Whitefall.”

John seemed to release his held breath and smile then; it didn’t seem as genuine as his previous ones. “I can do those. Just tell me when and where, and I’m yours.”

As his spoke, the teasing flirtiness that was his norm returned. Instead of relaxing, Harold found himself tensing up even more. This had been the easy part.

“That’s not all, Mr. Reese. If you accompany me, I would require a certain… discretion… on your part.”

Harold was expecting the affronted look on John’s face, but it still stung. “If you think—“

“It’s not about trusting you,” Harold rushed to explain. “I do. Which is why I am even daring to ask. But this isn’t that simple.”

John took a deep breath and his gaze sharpened. He leaned back in his chair and nodded at Harold. “Explain, then.”

Harold tried to make his next sentence sound like a statement of fact it was, and not an accusation. “I designed the Alliance surveillance system, Mr. Reese. I, more than anyone else, know where some of the sensitive information is coming from.”

John’s lips thinned. “Harold…”

Harold ignored the warning in his tone and continued. “Not that I hold it against you, or the Guild. It’s part of the job and pertinent for the safety and stability of the Alliance states. It’s not deception… it’s something completely opposite. It’s loyalty.” Harold took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I’m asking you to betray that.”

If John was appalled by that statement, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he just sat calmly and looked at Harold contemplatively.

It was now or never. It wasn’t like he was revealing something John didn’t already know. “If you accompany me, you will not be accompanying Mr. Crane. You will be accompanying Mr. Egret.”

He heard John suck in a gasp and knew that John had understood the implications of it.

“I have some issues to settle there and personal security as much a necessity as it a symbolism. I find that there aren’t many people I would trust to have my back if things turn nasty.”

“This is…”

 _Too much, too dangerous, too appalling._ Harold didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence… not yet. So he hastened to give John the out. “You don’t have to do this, of course. In which case, I am hoping we have fostered enough understanding for you to keep this information to yourself.”

When Harold paused for breath, John said quickly. “I will be honored.”

“What?” For all that he had struggled with the trust and the proposition, he hadn’t expected John to actually agree.

“I said, I will be honored. This doesn’t change anything.” When Harold continued to look at John suspiciously, looking for a catch, John’s lips turned up into a self-deprecating smile. “Alliance doesn’t have my loyalties, Harold. It’s not had them for a very long time. Not after what I’ve seen and heard.”

They stared at each other through the connection. Quite randomly, Harold found himself wishing John was _here_. It would be so much easier if he could reach out and touch him.

He didn’t know what John found on his face, but all Harold found was honesty. He wasn’t aware of what happened in John’s past, but apparently Harold wasn’t the only one who had been wronged by the Alliance. It made him even more determined to continue what he had started and damn the consequences.

“We have a deal then.” Harold broke the silence, finding his voice suddenly surer than before. He wasn’t alone in this and that made the ordeal ahead easier.

“Yes, we do.” John nodded, unfolding his hands from his chest. He bent forward, probably to turn off the screen and Harold prepared to do the same. “And Harold,” he said, looking up. At this angle, he found John’s face suddenly very close and despite knowing it was just a virtual screen, Harold’s pulse picked up.

He swallowed, looking at John questioningly. John smiled, a genuine, soft one… much more like his usual smiles than the ones he had given through all their recent conversation. “Thank you.”

The screen turned off, leaving Harold blinking at the empty room. He couldn’t suppress the smile on his own lips, knowing no one could see it.

“Thank _you_ , Mr. Reese.”

* * *

 

When the ship docked at Regina, Harold found himself oddly anxious. Very acutely, he understood that anxiety was an emotion he couldn’t afford to feel.

Mr. Egret was nothing without his reputation.

When he stood up, John wordlessly stood at his back. It had been a day’s ride to Regina, and while John was always an excellent company, Harold found himself too distracted to be one himself. So they had stayed in their quarters through most of the journey. It wasn’t that Harold was taking on his Egret persona—he had done that dozens of time. He had never done it around John.

Somehow, it mattered to him more than he had calculated. Not for the first time, he found himself questioning his decision to bring John along, but as John stood behind him, in quiet solidarity that slowed down Harold’s pulse and soothed his nerves, he knew he would make the same decision again.

As the doors opened, Harold realized the mistake he had made by avoiding John during this time. John had no warning about what he was getting into, no idea about how to behave. It didn’t matter much. Some things could only be experienced.

Still, he had instructed John to wear a plain black suit, and he had done so. He still looked too sensual to pass as a bodyguard, but Harold couldn’t imagine John ever looking _less_. It was like asking the sky to be less infinite.

“Stay a step behind me at all times. Don’t speak, unless I speak to you. Don’t react to anything.” Harold didn’t look back at John as he fired off the instructions he should’ve explained in detail. John didn’t comment, but Harold could feel him straightening up, his posture solid like a soldier. Maybe he _could_ pass as a bodyguard. He really never should underestimate the Guild training. Harold gave him an appreciative quick glance. Unfortunately for him, John was looking towards him at the same time, and their gazes locked. Harold swallowed around the lump in his throat. “And John…” He saw John tilt his head at being referred to by his first name. “Please don’t think too badly of me after this.”

John opened his mouth, probably to protest, but then the exit doors opened and light streamed in through it. It was time.

Harold closed his eyes for a moment and reached for his resolve. He bundled up his softness into a ball and shoved it deep inside himself and pulled at the icy rage that was always flowing just underneath. He let it bleed into his skin, into his voice, and let it straighten his spine.

When the doors were fully opened and he stepped outside… he was ready.

“Mr. Egret!” A genial voice called out as soon as he was out of the doors. Harold had known the man for long enough to know that you didn’t need to sound menacing to be that. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

“Mr. Elias. Mr. Marconi.” Harold nodded. “This is hardly a social visit.”

“Carl, please. I always have to remind you to stop being so formal.” Elias shook his hand, smiling. His grip was firm. “I see you brought a guest.”

Harold didn’t look at John. He just sniffed, like the air offended him. “These are dangerous times after all.”

“Indeed they are,” Elias agreed. “Can’t tell you how relieved I am to have Anthony. Having a right hand man makes being the… governor… of border planets so much more bearable.”

Harold didn’t let his surprise show. He had expected them to believe John was his bodyguard, at best. But to be compared to Mr. Marconi. He didn't dare turn around and look at John, to see if he looked as threatening and as _loyal_ as Anthony did. Whatever this game was, knowing how to play your role was half the point.

“Enough pleasantries, Mr. Elias.” Harold cut in, sharp. “Do you have him?”

“I do.” Elias’s face hardened. “My men heard, accidentally of course, a transmission requesting medical aid from Whitefall to Alliance,” Harold quirked his lips sardonically at the _accidentally_. He couldn’t blame Elias for keeping tabs on Whitefall; not when he did the same with Regina and many of the other border planets, some under Elias’s control, some not. “Then, not four days later, we caught _him_ , trying to sell Pneumo-W18 in the black market.”

Harold’s nostrils flared.

How dare he?

“Take me to him.” He didn’t have to fake the fury in his voice. He just had to think of all the children who needed the solvent to breathe because their lungs wouldn’t develop without it, and the rage in his veins bubbled into his throat, coloring his voice.

Elias didn’t say anything, but he looked like he approved. There was a reason Harold let him rule these planets. Nobody hurts their own, and when you’re a criminal lord of an entire planet, you _own_ the people on it.

“This way.” Mr. Marconi gestured towards the hovercar. Elias walked in front, Marconi walking just a step behind, a picture of support and deference, but not of docility. Harold followed them and tried not to let his surprise show when John mimicked the same attitude. Elias’s assessment was not that off, after all.

They were led to a large building which, Harold knew from past experiences, was Elias’s residence and office. They quietly followed them through the corridors and down the stairs. Harold wrinkled his nose when they stepped down the last flight of stairs. Elias didn’t turn around, but somehow still could tell Harold’s emotions, because he chuckled.

“I know this isn’t exactly your style, but I have found archaic traditions to be quite an effective strategy.”

Harold tried to look straight ahead, but he couldn’t miss the fact that he was in what was basically a dungeon from old times, with cells made into the walls. Thankfully, all the doors were ajar and Harold couldn’t see any prisoners there. Didn’t mean they had always been empty.

“I thought we had entered the civilized era,” Harold commented drily, trying not to let the atmosphere affect him.

“These aren’t civilized people,” Elias’s voice was colder than the chill in the underground air, and Harold had to fight not to shiver. He felt John move closer at his back and wondered what he thought about all this. Nothing positive, he was sure of at least that much.

They stopped in front of a locked door. Elias nodded to Marconi, and he went forward and activated the hand print sensors, opening the door.

Inside was pretty much the same as outside, except there was a man— tied, gagged and strapped to a chair— in the middle of it.  

“He’s all yours.” Marconi said with a flourish.

Harold blocked out all his empathy, all the anxiety he had because of having John witness this. He only focused on Whitefall, focused on his responsibility to that moon and many others like that and thought of all the people who suffered because one man felt like acting _greedy_.

“Thank you,” Harold said. He felt John shiver beside him and knew it wasn’t from the chill in the room.

He stepped closer to the man, while everyone stayed behind. Wary eyes of the prisoner watched him as he circled him, considering his next move. In the end, he stood in front of the chair and tilted his head quizzically.

“What’s your name?” he asked, polite. There was no need for uncivilized language.

The man sputtered around a gag, and a cruel smirk twisted Harold’s lips. “Never mind that, it’s not important. What’s important is… do you know who you stole from?”

He waited for the man to look at him, obviously underestimating him. It had been too long since he had visited Whitefall, if its residents had forgotten him—forgotten to _fear_ him. He pulled out a gag from the man’s mouth in a smooth motion, and in the other, grabbed his hair and pulled back sharply, eliciting a pained groan.

“I said, do you know who you stole from?” The man’s eyes showed an inkling of understanding now, and it sharpened the smile on Harold’s face. “Yes. That’s right. From _me_.”

“You are Egret.”

“I am.” Harold pulled the hair more sharply, and the man’s eyes glittered in anger and defiance.

“Go to hell,” he said, and then spat on his face.

He heard the sound of movement behind him, but held up a hand to stop them. Slowly, he pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, the smile never leaving his face and all the more dangerous for it.

“Oh, I have no doubt about where I am headed, but once we are done with you, you will _wish_ for hell,” Harold said, folding back his pocket square and stepping away. He looked at the three men standing there, and then nodded at Marconi.

“Mr. Marconi, if you would please?”

The grin on his face was genuine. “With pleasure,” he said, and stepped closer to the thief. The man started protesting for real then, obviously knowing where this was heading.

“No, wait.” Marconi didn’t stop. “Wait. I am sorry. I will give you whatever you want. I will do whatever you ask.”

“We have already taken whatever you could give us,” Harold said, not turning back. “Now, all you need to do, is be an example.”

With that, he subtly quickened his pace. As much as this was necessary, he didn’t want to stay around for it. Elias and John joined him, all three of them leaving the cell, with Marconi and the prisoner remaining inside. Before the door shut close behind them, an unmistakable scream reverberated through the place.

Harold stopped outside. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and gathered his nerves. There were no sounds coming from the cell any longer, but there was no mistake about what was happening inside.

“Keep him alive,” Harold said, grateful his voice was absolutely calm and calculated. “A dead example is not a good one.”

Elias huffed in amusement. “I disagree. Death is a good example in itself… but he is your present. You decide.”

Harold gave a grateful nod and started walking again, away from the cell and up the stairs. His hip throbbed at the movement, aggravated by the stairs as well as the chill surrounding him, but he resolutely ignored it. Once they reached the main floor, Harold turned to Elias again.

“The medicine…”

“Already sent to Whitefall authorities by an anonymous source. I know better than that fool downstairs. You don’t steal from Egret.”

Harold nodded. “You will, of course, be adequately recompensed for your efforts.”

Harold watched Elias’s face and saw him reach a conclusion when he smiled. It set Harold’s teeth on edge. “As much as I appreciate that, I do think I owe you enough already for the anonymity you have provided us with… Mr. Crane.”

Harold stiffened before he could suppress that impulse. He had suspected Elias to know, of course he had, but had hoped his avoidance of anything that involved people wouldn’t make him prominent. He felt John stiffen behind him and suddenly remembered his presence. He wondered if it was his increased social appearances that had led to this… he had gotten soft and careless recently. That needed to change.

“Mr. Elias,” his voice strained, but Elias just waved his hand.

“I knew for a while now, but… we _do_ receive transmissions from parties on Belerephon, you know?” He watched Harold amusedly, while Harold made plans about how to go about fixing this issue. If Elias felt bold enough to mention it now, soon he might feel bold enough to use it against him.

As if reading his mind, Elias clapped him on his shoulder. Harold watched the hand with contempt, and Elias removed it, the amusement not leaving his face. “Don’t worry about it, we know not to bite the hand that feeds us, and all that. A word of warning, that’s all.”

Harold deliberately relaxed his shoulders. It was a weakness—he knew it was, as much as Elias did—but he wasn’t the only one with weaknesses. He knew more about Elias than Elias could ever know about Crane. He hadn’t built a surveillance system to end up being defenseless after all. The scales were still far from balanced, they both knew that, but the shift in them still made him feel unbalanced.

He felt John move close to him, closer than Harold usually allowed people to stand. Somehow with John, it didn’t feel like it was caging him in. The opposite, really. When John spoke, his voice was calm and comforting, yet full of promise—promise of what? Harold wasn’t really sure. “Everything okay, Harold?”

Harold stared at Elias’s face for a few moments, his eyes cold and calculating. Elias stood through the scrutiny, knowing what Harold was doing and uncaring. Harold had to respect him for that. With the information Harold had, he could bring down the whole system Elias had built in a blink, but now Elias was aware he would take Harold with him.

It didn’t matter, anyway. Harold didn’t plan to get rid of Elias. He knew very well what happened to planets that had no ruling system, not even an unorthodox one.

With a nod towards Elias, knowing he would understand it as Harold’s acceptance of slight shift in the scales that had happened, Harold said. “Everything is fine, John.”

“Good.”

Harold couldn’t see what the expressions on John’s face were, but Elias broke out into a grin. “Delighted to meet you too, John.”

The way he said John’s name, soft… almost like a fond caress, made Harold hackles rise. He couldn’t understand why—or maybe he could, but he didn’t want to admit it. To stop himself from dwelling on the thought, Harold started walking again, outside the building and towards the hovercar waiting for them.

“Where will you be going?” Elias asked, when they stopped beside the vehicle.

“Whitefall,” Harold said, getting a nod of understanding from Elias. “It has been too long,” he admitted. That he had been too distracted, he didn’t say, but Elias understood it anyway.

“Good luck.” Elias clapped his hands, and then extended his own for Harold to shake. “I hope we will be seeing you more often.” Harold shook his hand, firmly.

“You too, John. I hope we haven’t seen the last of you.”

Harold had to grit his teeth when John shook Elias’s hand, and he berated himself for his over-emotionality. He reminded himself that just because John had been paid to be here, it didn’t give him any claim over him. On his part, John had acted admirably loyal—more than Harold could ever have expected, and a lot more than he deserved.

It was only when they had left the building behind them that Harold relaxed. Mindful of the driver, he glanced at John surreptitiously and found him looking back at him. Before Harold could figure out what to say, John spoke.

“You okay?”

Harold couldn’t help the startled bitter laugh that came from his chest. “Me?” he shook his head, unable to understand John and looked away, without answering.

A moment later, he felt John touch his hand and hold it in a grip that conveyed nothing but reassurance. Harold wanted to pull his hand away, but found that he didn’t have the heart to.

“Thank you.” After a few minutes of quite drive, Harold spoke in a voice that was only loud enough for John to hear and felt him squeeze Harold’s hand in reply. “And I’m sorry.”

* * *

 

Harold had never claimed to be brave, so he tried not to feel guilty about avoiding John. He could’ve, _should’ve,_ talked to John and explained what had happened down on the planet. He didn’t. If John was never going to accompany Harold again, he didn’t want to know it right now, not when they still had to spend another unavoidable few days together.

Instead, he spent the few hours of flight from Regina to Whitefall in his quarters, trying to sleep and failing. John didn’t disturb him.

They took a shuttle to his residence, well outside the city. He would need to arrange a few meetings before he left the next day, and he sent a missive to the concerned people. It was almost as exhausting being a shady crime lord in the edge of nowhere as it was being an elite among the Alliance, if not more.

Harold hated the partiality and the bias towards him here, even more than he did as Crane. Because here, he knew most of it stemmed from fear. He hoped, though, that some of it also came out of respect. Not everyone bought Alliance’s agenda, not when the medicine was always missing, the food rations always scanty, and the government didn’t bother listening to their complaints.

Harold always listened.

The dinner was extravagant for just two guests, but Harold had no appetite. He played around with food in his plate, while surreptitiously watching John do the same. That was why he noticed it when John put his spoon down and took a deep breath.  He tensed for what was to come.

“Harold…”

He found he wasn’t prepared for it, put his own utensils down and leaned back. “Mr. Reese. We have both had a long day, and I would like to retire for the night.”

John looked at Harold, calculating and then shook his head. “No.”

Taken aback, Harold stared. “What do you mean, no?”

“If you go to bed now, you aren’t going to sleep; you know that as well as I do. You brought be here to keep you safe, and I intend to do that.”

“I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

John’s smile gentled. “In usual circumstances, yes. While tied in knots about what happened in Regina and full of ill-founded guilt and self-reproach…” John shook his head lightly. “Even you aren’t infallible, Harold.”

“ _Ill-founded?_ ” Harold’s voice became a croak, much to his chagrin. “How could you say that? After what you saw?”

John dragged his chair back and got up, giving Harold a look that was nothing but fond. “You’re always the harshest on yourself, aren’t you?” He turned towards the hallway, speaking over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s run you a bath. See if we can do something for the pain in your hip.”

With that, John left and made his way towards the main bedroom. Harold hesitated for a while, wondering if his pain had been that obvious. It probably hadn’t been. Harold had lived with it for long enough to know how to hide it well. He didn’t know why he was surprised; John had always proven himself to be more attentive and intelligent than people gave him credit for.

He got up then and followed John into the room. He owed John some answers, whether he felt comfortable giving them or not. He could hear the sound of water filling the tub coming from the bathroom and felt the thread of discomfort for wasting water—that was basically a commodity in the border planets these days—so carelessly. He waited a little more time outside, changing into a bathing robe and folding his clothes—taking too long doing it and trying to find a plausible reason to back out of it. In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

The bathroom was as lavish as he remembered, full of steam already and some sort of scent that John must have found in the cabinets. Harold had never cared for such things, but his status as Egret demanded he at least put on the show. Together, it had a calming effect.

So did John’s smile.

It welcomed him closer, until he was standing next to him. John checked the water temperature and then gestured with his head.

“The water is warm,” John told him gently. Harold heard what he wasn’t asking. _Is this okay?_ Was what John meant. Harold nodded.

“Get in,” he said, shaking his hand and standing up. “I will get more stuff.”

Harold didn’t ask what _stuff_ he was talking about, grateful for the opportunity for privacy when John left. He found it hard to shrug out of his robe, feeling more vulnerable than he had ever felt before. He berated himself for it. After what he had already shown John, what was one more layer? He had felt more naked clad in three piece suit and standing in the chill of Elias’s dungeon than he could ever feel inside a bath tub.

He folded his robe neatly and stepped into the water, finding it just hot enough to feel good. The sigh of relief he let out when he sank into the water, having it cover him till mid-waist, was completely involuntary. He leaned his back against the edge and closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth and the soothing scent permeating the air.

He had almost dozed off when the sound of door opening alerted him, and he felt himself tense.

“It’s just me,” John called out, as if anyone else would dare enter Egret’s chambers uninvited. Still, Harold felt some of the tension leave him.

He heard the footsteps coming closer. Harold brushed away water from his face and blinked in the semi darkness. The lights were barely illuminating the room and what little visibility there was, was further diminished by the steam. He could barely see John even when he stood next to the tub. Harold had no doubt this had been deliberate on John’s part, giving Harold a sense of privacy even in the vulnerability of this whole thing, and he couldn’t help being grateful for it.

“If you want me to go…” John started, a little unsure.

Harold found himself shaking his head, saying. “No. It’s fine.” Then, not knowing how to express what he was feeling, he added. “I like your company.”

Harold could swear even through the fog, he could see John’s lips tilting into a teasing smile. “I like your company too, Harold. But I was hoping I could be of more help than just enjoyable company.”

Harold found himself blushing involuntarily. Last time he had jumped to conclusions, he had embarrassed himself thoroughly. But… John couldn’t be implying what he thought he was implying…

“John…” He tapered off, not knowing how to complete that sentence.

“Harold,” John’s reply was just as indulgent. When Harold didn’t say anything, John sighed. It sounded both exasperated and fond. “I was thinking I could wash your hair.”

Harold pursed his lips, considering it. It was such an innocent gesture and yet… after the day they had had, with how exposed Harold felt already, the same gesture felt infinitely _more_.

“If you would rather not…” It was the quiet dejection in John’s voice that made up his mind.

“That would be rather lovely,” Harold said quickly.

“Thank you,” John whispered, as if it was _Harold_ that was doing John a favor.

John wasted no time in dragging a stool and settling himself next to the tub. He placed some things at the side of the tub that Harold didn’t bother looking at. He did startle when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but John just squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

“Scent-free one, or the fruity one?” John asked, his voice sounding a little hoarse. Harold wasn’t the only one feeling the intimacy of the moment.

Harold shrugged, feeling John’s hand move with the movement of his shoulders. “I have no preference.”

“Fruity one it is.”

John took hold of a hand shower and gently nudged Harold to tilt his head back. Harold closed his eyes against the spray of water, as it wetted his hair. When John’s fingers caressed his scalp, the sigh of contentment was as involuntary as his proceeding blush. Fortunately, John didn’t comment on it.

“They are softer than I expected,” John commented.

“Hmm?” Harold couldn’t focus with the slow, calming way John’s fingers massaged his scalp, winding through his hair.

“Your hair. They always look so… severe, but they aren’t. They are rather lovely too.”

Harold didn’t ask him why John had any _expectations_ about how Harold’s hair would feel like. That would open the room for questions he hadn’t even asked himself… questions about what _John’s_ hair would feel like. Quite suddenly, he wished their positions were reversed.

John put shampoo in the palm on his hand and then slowly massaged it into Harold’s hair, wiping at Harold’s forehead whenever the suds got close to his eyes. All Harold had to do was close his eyes and trust John. Slowly, the nerve wracking intimacy of the moment gave way to quiet comfort, and Harold found himself relaxing into the water, the aches of the day giving way to exhaustion.

That was when John spoke.

“You were right.”

Harold make a questioning sound, too zoned out to focus.

“About the companions being sources of information for the Alliance. You were right about that.”

“I told you, Mr. Reese; it’s not something I will hold against you, as long as you are willing to keep this one incriminating incidence a secret.”

John stayed quiet, his fingers stilling too. Harold felt a thread of panic take root in his heart. “Unless you aren’t willing to do that…”

Before he could fully lose the bit of comfort he had garnered, John’s other hand squeezed his shoulder again and the fingers resumed their gentle movement. “No, Harold. I am not having second thoughts about this. I promised you confidentiality, and I will give it to you. Have a little faith.”

The words soothed Harold more than rhythmic movements on his head, and he was tempted to ask John if they were taught hypnotism in the Companion-School too. He settled down, giving John a chance to speak whatever was bothering him. John didn’t disappoint.

“What I meant to say was, you were right about the Companions. But you were wrong about me.”

Harold opened his mouth again, but John’s squeeze on his shoulder stopped him. “I told you I was born on Deadwood, right? As you are aware, it is not the best planet to be born on. I lost my family to the Reavers, and most of my friends. You can’t fight that madness, not without going a little mad yourself.”

John’s hand fell away from Harold’s hair and the room was suddenly too empty, too cold. Harold stayed still, giving John his space, leaving it up to him to continue if he wanted to.

“They saved me,” John said, and then followed it with a bitter laugh. “Kara and Mark. Alliance representatives. They rescued me during a reaver attack, and got me off Deadwood. Nobody gets off Deadwood, not unless Alliance wants them to. For years, I was grateful. I enrolled into Guild on their suggestion. They took care of the all the paperwork, and when, half a decade later, I became a Companion, I didn’t just answer to the Alliance. I _worked_ for them. Their faithful little spy.”

The bitterness in John’s voice made sure Harold didn’t get concerned about his own safety even for a moment. This wasn’t Alliance’s faithful spy speaking. Whatever happened, it had changed John’s loyalties for good.

“What happened?” he asked, quite involuntarily. His voice was full of concern and horror, and John probably noticed, because Harold felt him run a soothing hand through Harold’s hair and down his shoulder, resting it there, comforting _Harold._

“Truth happened,” John said and then chuckled self-deprecatingly. “They directed a special neurobiochemical scientist my way when he was looking for a Companion. He had a tendency to get chatty, _afterwards_. I learned about the experiments on Miranda.”

Harold gasped. That was classified information, beyond even _Crane’s_ security clearance.

“You know,” John said, noticing his sudden tension.

“Yes,” Harold croaked, then cleared his throat. Of course he knew about the experiments on Miranda, about how the Alliance had tried to make the entire planet more docile and had instead ended up creating the monsters that were now called the Reavers. John didn’t ask how, he just continued.

“I also learned how they were continuing modified experiments on Deadwood and many other such planets.”

“They couldn’t have taken kindly to the leak in their information.” Harold had an idea what they did with people who possessed such knowledge.

“No, they didn’t.” John laughed again. “Kara was carrying a gun, and Mark had a sniper trained on me when they came to collect the information. Lucky for me, Guild taught me too well. They don’t know that I know.”

Harold let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. “So, you’re lying to them.”

John picked up the hand shower again, nudging Harold to get in position. “I give them the occasional information, every now and then, some true, some misdirection. Something that doesn’t give them much benefit, but, to their frustration, still proves me to be loyal to them. That’s why I don’t take off-shore assignments. Less sensitive information.”

Harold tilted his head back and let the water rinse away the shampoo from his hair. Something occurred to him then.

“Was I a mark too?”

He was surprisingly not concerned about the answer. He wasn’t concerned about John’s loyalties. John stilled for a moment.

“Yes,” he said, waiting for Harold to react. Harold just nodded, having guessed as much. Then John continued. “And they think you are the most loyal, if a little eccentric, software engineer in the whole of the ‘verse.”

Harold found himself smiling. “Eccentric? Really?”

“Well, I needed to make it believable, didn’t I?”

Even thought it was joke at his own expense, Harold was grateful for the lightness in John’s tone. Harold let John wash all the shampoo away from Harold’s hair, and then put the shower down. Only then did he say, low and heartfelt.

“Thank you.”

John must know Harold’s didn’t just mean it for John not telling Alliance about his activities. He meant everything. The bath, the quiet comfort and the trust he had shown Harold by sharing his past.

“You don’t need to thank me, Harold.” John ran one last hand through Harold’s hair before standing up. “I know a little something about the end justifying the means. Deadwood needed someone like Egret or Elias. It’s nice to know Whitefall has it, and it’s not the only one… is it?”

Harold shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

“Then I am glad,” John said, and then stepped away. “I will let you enjoy the rest of your bath.”

Harold wanted to stop him, wanted to tell him how much all this meant to him, but he had a feeling John wouldn’t appreciate it. That John would already know. He suddenly realized Harold hadn’t been the only to strip out of his layers and expose all his wounds tonight. Maybe John needed a while to recover from the rawness of the experience.

With John gone, the room suddenly felt colder than it had. Harold didn’t linger in the bath much longer. He finished washing himself, wore the robe John had thoughtfully left within easy reach and went out into his room.

He was surprisingly disappointed to find his room empty. The bed felt too big and too cold when he lay down in it, and he wondered when did he,—a reclusive, paranoid, billionaire—started feeling more at home under someone’s shrewd scrutiny than in the privacy of his room.

He had shared his past with John, his secrets that not even Nathan knew. Quite inappropriately, he found himself wanting to share even more: his room, his bed, and maybe even his life.

Harold was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew what this meant. Falling for the guy he was hiring for company? That had to be a next level of pathetic, even for him.

He buried his face into the pillow and groaned out loud. He was so, _so_ , out of his depth and out of line. John could never know; John _should_ never know. But maybe, he could still find a way to keep him in his life; not in the way he wanted maybe, but in ways that would help them both.


	4. Chapter 4

Harold had been mulling over how to say it for weeks, trying to find the right time and the right way to phrase it. Which is why, when the words came, they were surprisingly artless.

“I want to hire you as my personal Companion.”

John was wearing meditation robes, sitting cross legged with his eyes closed. Harold had been staring at him for the last few minutes, too unsettled to follow the postures John was suggesting him for meditation, that wouldn’t also exacerbate his spine problems. He had been watching the calming rise and fall of John’s chest, hypnotic in its rhythmicity, when he blurted out the words.

He wished he could take them back the moment he said them. It didn’t matter that they were essentially true. Harold did want to hire John as his personal Companion; he wanted to keep John beside him permanently; he wanted to drink tea brewed by John and fail at mediating next to him every day; he wanted _John_. And that’s what he had said.

Not ‘ _have you ever considered becoming an exclusive Companion?_ ’, because Harold couldn’t be the first person who wanted to keep John. Nor, ‘ _would you want to become my personal Companion?_ ’

No. Harold had said, ‘ _I_ want you as my personal Companion.’ A statement of fact, treating John the way he had vowed never to treat him. Like a property without a will of his own.

John’s posture didn’t change much, but because Harold was following his breathing pattern to sync his own with, he noticed John had stopped breathing. Slowly, John opened his eyes, but Harold couldn’t find it in himself to meet his gaze.

“That is… I would be honored, if you would.” Harold helplessly gestured with his hands. “—if you want,” he finished lamely.

“Why?” John asked, the eerie stillness to him putting Harold on even more edge than before.

It was a simple question, one that Harold should’ve been expecting, but somehow still found himself unprepared for. It did have a simple answer. An answer he couldn’t give John.

“Because I believe it would be beneficial for both our situations,” he said instead. It wasn’t a lie, but neither was it the truth.

John seemed to become even tenser at his answer. “How so?”

“It would make me appear more _normal_ in the eye of the Alliance, for one thing,” Harold explained, hating himself for it a little. “Take away some of the scrutiny. A careless billionaire acquiring an exclusive Companion is… predictable, after all.”

John nodded, before letting out a shaky breath. “I am not saying I’m not grateful, Harold…”

“That’s not all.” Harold sensed the refusal coming, inevitable, so he rushed to explain. “It would also help your current position with Alliance.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Being a personal Companion would make you less available for some of the more distasteful work the Alliance might use you for. It would, take you out of commission, so to say.”

“Do you think I have not considered that option before?” John asked, his voice curiously unemotional. “Find a harmless, boring, rich client and become attached to them? Because trust me… I have.” John shook his head then, self-deprecatingly. “Who says they will let me?”

Harold couldn’t help but bristle at that. “I do believe I am influential enough to have some sway in these matters.”

“Who says it’s fair?” John added then, an afterthought.

Harold mulled over it, not understanding the sudden weariness in John’s tone, the defeated slump of his shoulders.

“Mr. Reese, I…”

“You are very kind, Harold,” John said, “You want to help everyone, even the lost causes. _This_ is beyond even your help.”  

Harold opened and closed his mouth, knowing he had gone wrong somewhere, but unable to ascertain how to fix it. John didn’t let him. He took a deep breath and met Harold’s gaze. The melancholy in his eyes was like a punch to Harold’s solar plexus.

“I haven’t taken an exclusive client yet, because it’s not fair. Not to them, because this isn’t what they are looking for in a Companion, and while I can act my part, in the end, I don’t think I can ever satisfy them… not without telling them things they probably don’t want to learn.”

He looked away then, staring at his clasped hands in his lap. “And it’s not fair to me,” he said, his voice small, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say that.

Harold reached out to touch John, but stopped halfway, not knowing if it was allowed. When John looked up again, his eyes were dull. “Like I said, I am grateful, and flattered by your proposition, but it’s unnecessary. You carry enough of your demons, Harold. No need to burden yourself with mine too.”

Harold processed everything John had said, tried to make sense of it. He felt like he was missing some important pieces of the puzzle, but his heart and mind ached too much by John’s answer to properly analyze it.

John was saying no.

As was his right. As he should. Harold didn’t have anything to offer him that the rest of his clients didn’t. And being with Harold was surely to put John in even more danger than he already was. Put them _both_ in more danger.

It was the right decision, the logical one.

Ignoring how much it hurt to do so, he nodded. “If you’re quite sure.”

“I am.”

Silence between them had not been uncomfortable even in the very beginning, so to find it so now was disturbing. John cleared his throat after a while, drawing his attention.

“You want to try meditating again?”

Harold doubted anything could quiet his mind at the moment, but he didn’t have a better alternate than finishing the session and asking John to leave. Despite the heartache, he found he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so yet. So he nodded in acquiescence.

He didn’t find any peace in the meditation, even after following John’s every direction. If John’s erratic breathing pattern was any indication… neither did he.

* * *

 

Harold hadn’t realized how social he had become, how reliant on John’s company as a buffer, until he stopped.

The week after his disastrous proposition to John, he got an invite for a charity Gala in Londinium. He smiled for a moment, thinking John would be relieved to stay on home ground for once, until the smile slipped from his lips as he remembered their last conversation.

It wasn’t like John had refused to be hired by him; but he had made it clear that that was all it was—a job. That should be enough. John wasn’t obligated to give more than his contract asked him to, and if Harold called him now, he would get that much. It was better than nothing.

Except, Harold’s wretched, greedy heart couldn’t settle for that. The more it had, the more it wanted.

No. It was easier to simply get rid of the temptation completely.

Harold didn’t go to that Gala, or the next one, or the one after that. The next time, they invited Nathan.

He should’ve expected the call. Still, he found himself oddly unprepared when turned on the holo-vid and saw Nathan’s face.

“The United Alliance Technologies invited me to their exhibition.”

“Hello to you too, Nathan.”

Nathan totally ignored the sarcasm in Harold’s voice. “They called _me_ , Harold. What is going on?”

“You know I count on you to handle the more social side of our profession. It’s not the first time they have called you.”

“It is,” Nathan said, peering at Harold worriedly. “It is the first time in the last six months. Because it’s the first time _you_ refused.”

“I have work to do, Nathan.” Harold tried to sound nonchalant. “You know that. With the new contract for the nucleotide incorporation in the identification process, I have my hands full.”

“I get that. And I won’t be bothering you if it was the first invitation I received. But how do I explain the three other events that somehow think that Harold Crane not attending their function is an ultimate insult to them when he attended the ones arranged by their competitors.”

Harold sighed.

He knew he couldn’t get out of it; knew his friend knew him too well to let it go.

“Nathan…”

“Is John sick?” Nathan asked, concern evident in his eyes. At that moment, Harold _hated_ that Nathan knew him as well as he did. “Is everything alright?”

Harold knew the bitter twist of his lips was a dead giveaway, but he couldn’t help it. “Mr. Reese is… unavailable,” he said, and Nathan _understood._

“I am sorry.” There was genuine compassion in Nathan’s voice, and Harold couldn’t deal with that at the moment.

“If that’s all you wanted to—“

“He’s a _Companion_ , Harold. You knew that going in.”

Harold pursed his lips. “I did. Apparently I am still foolish enough to forget that.”

“Did you talk to him?” Nathan asked, “Because I was sure you weren’t the only one who had forgotten.”

Harold hated the ugly sound that pretended to be laugh that came out of his chest. “I did talk to him. That’s how I know.” He didn’t want to look at Nathan’s concerned face any more. “If it’s okay with you, I would rather not talk about it.”

Nathan stayed quiet, studying him, for a while. “Alright,” he nodded eventually, his voice solemn. “You take your time. Do what you need to do. I will handle the rest.”

At that moment, Harold was immensely grateful for having a friend like Nathan. He could trust him to handle the situation without causing any social disasters, just like he could trust him not to push Harold further than he was willing to go.

“Thank you,” Harold said, and then disconnected the video conference.

It didn’t get easier to go back to life as it was, before he had met John Reese. The tea didn’t taste the same, even though he made it exactly the same way as John used to. His spine protested the movements more than it had in the months, before John had taught him the benefits of relaxation and massage. His clothes felt rough on his skin as he put away all of his softer, more luxurious choices that John had coaxed him into buying.

He had never been lonely before meeting John Reese. Now, that was the only emotion he found himself capable of feeling.

He immersed himself in the code, in creating tighter, more secure surveillance systems and building clever back-doors into it because Alliance couldn’t be trusted with it, and tried to tell himself he didn’t miss John.

He had never been a good liar, but repeated enough times, he almost believed it.

* * *

 

Five months after Harold once again reclaimed his title of a reclusive programmer, he found himself in a position he couldn’t get out of.

And once again, he could blame it all on one Logan Pierce.

“Nathan, for the last time…”

“I know you don’t want to go. I get it. And I would go in your stead, I was going to, but Will is in surgery right now, and he needs me to be here.” Nathan looked genuinely sorry, and that was the only reason Harold had not hung up on him.

“It’s a ball, Nathan. I don’t even know how to dance.”

“You don’t have to.  Just go, say hello, make sure he sees you, and come back.”

Harold just pursed his lips, filled with annoyance and quite a bit of dread. Nathan understood that, because he softened his expressions.

“I really am sorry, Harold. If I could—“

Harold waved his hand, stopping him. “It’s not your fault.” Because it wasn’t, even if Harold wanted to blame Nathan for putting him in that position. “I will handle it. You should focus on your family right now.”

Nathan nodded, and then ended the call after saying a quick thank you. Harold sat there for a few moments before shaking his head. He pretended to be an underground crime lord of multiple planets every few months. Getting through an overbearing ball was hardly the worst thing he could have to experience.

He wore one of his more conservative suits the next day, and took a shuttle to Persephone. He was going to stick to Nathan’s advice—go in, make sure Logan sees him, and get out. With that in mind, he made his way to the venue of the ball, noticing the extravagant décor and the wasteful use of money with distaste as he entered the building.

He was prepared for the unpleasantness of the evening, for the formal small talk and the unsubtle prying questions.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for coming face to face with John Reese.

Harold considered turning around and leaving, but he had barely just entered the hall, and John had already seen him and was making his way towards him. Harold stood there, wishing he was anywhere but here, as John approached him.

“Harold.” John sounded pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Whether John meant for it to sound accusatory or not, Harold still couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong.

“Nathan’s son fell sick,” he explained. “I decided to be here at last minute, didn’t have time to hire a Companion.”

It was essentially true, but didn’t explain why he hadn’t contacted John in months before this. John didn’t ask, for which Harold was grateful.

“Well, it’s nice to see you then, even if the circumstances bringing you here are unfortunate.” John smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Have a nice evening.”

John was turning around to leave, and before Harold could stop himself, he called out. “Wait.”

When John turned around, Harold found himself at loss for what to say. He couldn’t exactly tell him that in every event before this, John had never turned away from him, and doing so now was making him feel… off.

John was looking at him questioningly though, so Harold asked. “Have you been—” Happy? Healthy? Busy? Content? Safe? As lonely as I have been? There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he settled on—“Well?”

John read the questions on his face anyway. He had always been far too good at reading him. “Yes,” he answered. “I have been well, Harold.”

It was the answer Harold had been hoping for, and yet he felt strangely crestfallen.

“And you?” John asked him, quietly, in deference to all the things he knew about Harold that nobody else did. “I hope you have been well, too.”

‘ _I miss you,_ ’ was what Harold wanted to say, but instead he nodded, and spoke against the lump in his throat. “Yes. I have been fine.” Fine didn’t mean good, or happy. Fine just meant, fine. And he was that.

“Good. I am glad to hear that.” John said. “In any case, I won’t keep you away from the party any longer—“

“John! There you are.” A voice interrupted them, before a hand snaked around John’s waist, and a head peeked above his shoulder. “Don’t abandon me like that. You know I get lonely without you.” Harold watched with a sick feeling in his stomach as Logan Pierce pressed his lips to John’s cheek before letting go on his waist and coming to stand next to him. John had suddenly turned stiff, looking anything but comfortable, but Logan didn’t seem to notice or care, plastering himself to John’s side.

“Logan,” John’s voice was sweet and smooth, not revealing his discomfort. “I thought I left you in company of delightful ladies.”

“They were indeed delightful, until they started talking about the latest fashion trends and became boring. Why isn’t everyone dancing yet?” Logan looked around, and then seemed to notice Harold all of a sudden.

“Harry!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Mr. Pierce,” Harold acknowledged, “Mr. Ingram sends his apologies, his son suddenly fell ill.” He tried to keep his tone polite. It took more effort than he was willing to admit.

“One man’s sorrow, the other man’s joy, and all that. I am so happy to see you. I have been meaning to thank you for a while now.”

“Thank me?”

“Yes,” the smile on Logan’s face was sly and full of mischief, as his hand stroked John’s arm possessively. “Thank you, for introducing me to this _fine_ human specimen here.”

Harold had to subdue the sudden impulse to smack Logan’s hand away, to take John by the arm and keep him beside himself, but it wasn’t his prerogative. Companions choose their clients, John had always reminded him. John had chosen Logan.

“He is indeed an exceptional Companion, Mr. Pierce. I am glad you’re enjoying his services.”

“Oh, I’m enjoying him alright. He has got these hands on him… they _really_ know what they are doing. And his mouth… God, his mouth—”

“Logan,” John interrupted him gently, putting a hand on Logan’s. “I believe there was a ball you were meaning to begin?”

“Oh yes. I forgot. Got distracted talking about how _good_ you are.” Logan smiled at John indulgently, which John returned, albeit a lot less sincere. Logan didn’t seem to care. “Anyway, Mr. Crane. Enjoy the party, and no, you can’t leave yet. I know that look. We need to talk shop later.”

John gave Harold one, strangely apologetic look, before being dragged away by Logan. Harold let out the breath he had been holding. With deliberate effort, he unclenched his jaw, relieving some of the pressure on his temples.

The pressure around his heart didn’t decrease though. Not when his eyes still followed John’s back across the room.

He wasn’t sure why he stayed. Sure Pierce had told him to, but he didn’t answer to him, and Harold leaving early would’ve caused only a little resentment. Nothing Pierce could take advantage of. Still, Harold found himself sitting in a corner, and nursing a bitter drink which failed to mask the bitter taste of _jealousy_ in his mouth.

When the dance started, it became worse. Harold wondered if he was a masochist, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from where John was dancing with Pierce, couldn’t help but clench his hands into a fist watching Pierce’s wandering hands. His ears tuned into the sounds of Pierce’s laughter as John spoke lowly in his ear, and simultaneously he wanted to know what John said, and to never ever know it.

They looked beautiful together—young and well dressed and charismatic. Harold _hated_ it.

Finally, after three consecutive dances, Pierce seemed to bore of it and walked away towards a pair of ladies huddled in the corner. If Harold had not been watching John intently, he would’ve missed the sigh of relief he released at it. In the next moment, John looked at him, and Harold tried to pretend he hadn’t been watching John all this time. He was sure he failed miserably, because John had a smirk on his face as he made his way towards him.

“Hiding in the shadows, are we?” John picked up a drink from a serving tray, and sat down in front of Harold without asking permission.

“It’s hardly my chosen form of recreation,” Harold shrugged, taking another gulp of his bitter drink, and trying not to wince.

“Come on, Harold. You’re already here. It won’t hurt to have some _fun_.” John was grinning, which was what Harold blamed for not being able to form an appropriate response.

“As the Companion to the host of this party,” John mused, when Harold didn’t say anything. “I believe it is my duty to make sure the guests are entertained, so… what do you think?”

Harold looked at him in confusion as John stood up. He understood what John meant when he glanced meaningfully at the dance floor, and then back at Harold.

Harold shook his head, shrinking back into his seat. “You cannot be serious,” he sounded as flabbergasted as he felt.

John shrugged. “Why not?”

“You know my… limitations… better than most, Mr. Reese. You can’t possibly expect me to _dance_.”

“It’s just dancing, Harold. All you need is a good partner.” John smiled gently, and extended his hand towards Harold. “Trust me,” he said.

Harold couldn’t possibly say no to that. With great reluctance, he placed his hand in John’s open palm, and told himself that John’s radiant smile was reward enough for the awkwardness of the situation.

“You won’t regret it,” John promised, as he led Harold to the dance floor.

Soon after, a new song begun playing, this one softer and mellower, and John maneuvered Harold into position. It didn’t take long for Harold to get into the easy rhythm John established, carrying most of Harold’s weight and making Harold’s awkward shuffling somehow seem more fluid than Harold could’ve ever imagined.

But it took even lesser time for Harold to realize this was one of his more awful ideas, and not because of his inability to dance.

Standing in John’s warm embrace, surrounded by his scent, with his voice low and intimate in his ears—it was everything Harold hadn’t even known he had wanted. And it was all _wrong_. Because it couldn’t last. One dance, that’s all he would get. John’s breath brushed his ear, and Harold missed a step, stumbling. John caught him easily, but Harold’s treacherous heart, beating painfully in his chest, was much harder to control.

To distract himself a little, Harold looked around, almost instantly noticing Logan Pierce standing in the crowd, and looking straight at them. Harold couldn’t decipher the look on his face, but knew it hardly looked pleased.

“Your client doesn’t seem very happy that you’re seeking someone else’s company,” Harold mentioned, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I am sure he is mature enough to handle a little jealousy.” John didn’t sound concerned. If anything, he sounded amused.

“That he may be. But is it _mature_ to deliberately make your client jealous?”

John chuckled, making Harold look up at him in confusion. “I don’t think it’s me he is jealous about.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You have no idea do you?” John sounded both awed and exasperated. “No idea about the effect you have on people.” John shook his head lightly. He was the one keeping up the pace of the dance now, because Harold was barely shuffling at all. “Do you know how much he talks about you? And how… disgruntled he was the last time I accompanied him to an event and you didn’t show up.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Reese?” Harold looked anywhere but at John, staring at the polished buttons on John’s embroided coat rather than his face.

“I am saying, Harold, that _someone_ might be a little infatuated with you.”

Harold couldn’t help the startled laugh at that. “You sound like Nathan,” he said, meeting John’s amused gaze.

“Maybe you should listen to your friend more often then.”

The dance was as easy as everything between them had always been, their conversation coming so naturally that Harold almost forgot all that had changed. Only the tight ache in his chest reminded him of that. At a turn that John made look almost effortless, John caught his eyes and smiled. “See, not so bad, right?”

Harold considered how he would think about this moment for a long time to come, remember the soft music, and John’s arms around him, and the pleased twinkle in John’s eyes. He knew this memory would be bittersweet, but he would rather have it than not.

“Not bad, indeed.” Harold agreed, making John grin.

“You should have faith in me more often, Harold,” John teased. Harold wondered if he knew that John was the _only_ being in the entire ‘verse he had any faith in.

Before Harold could come up with a reply that sounded suitably playful, and not like a confession, a hand grabbed John’s arm quite roughly.

“Excuse me,” Pierce all but dragged John away from Harold, “But I believe he is _my_ _Companion_ for tonight.”

“Yes,” Harold noticed his hand was still in the air from where it had been on John’s shoulder a moment ago. Hastily, he pulled it back and clasped his hands at his back. “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to impose.”

Pierce ignored him, and pouted at John. “Now, you can go woo other people, I can’t stop you from that until you rethink my—very generous, I must say—offer. But please don’t do that while on my payroll. That seems like a given thing.”

“It’s not his fault.” Harold found himself interrupting. Pierce turned around and looked at Harold. Harold quelled the urge to fidget. “It’s not his fault. I was sitting alone, and he only wanted to be a good host and give me company.”

“Why, Harold. You should’ve said so earlier.” The smile on Pierce’s face was full of amusement. “For you, I don’t mind sharing. I get it. He is quite irresistible; you get one taste, and end up addicted. You should come with a warning label, sweetheart.” Logan’s hand patted John’s heart, then he spoke to Harold again.  “You are welcome to join us later in the private suite. I had, _plans_ , for tonight, but I am sure John wouldn’t mind a delectable addition like you. Will you, darling?”

John looked anything but comfortable with the direction this topic had taken. “Logan…”

“He won’t mind.” Pierce didn’t wait for him to finish. “So, what do you think?”

Harold was clenching his hands tightly at his back, a blush that was half embarrassment and half something much uglier spreading on his face. “That won’t be necessary.”

“You’re sure. Not every day a guy like you gets an offer to be in bed with two men like us.” Harold ignored the insult and shook his head. “Pity.”

“Maybe we should—” John tried to tug at Pierce’s hold, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Pierce ignored him. “He _is_ very good though. A giver. But you already know that.” Harold wondered why he didn’t just turn and walk away, but he felt rooted to the ground. Pierce’s eyes narrowed as he watched Harold. “Or maybe you don’t.”

Harold kept his face blank.

“ _You don’t!”_ Pierce sounded most excited by that deduction. “I can’t believe that. You totted him around on your arm for how long, and he still didn’t give it up for you? Damn.”

They were attracting subtle but unmistakable looks from people around them now. Harold opened his mouth to comment on how inappropriate this conversation was, but Pierce continued speaking.

“You must let me tell you what you’re missing out on. I have had a few Companions. Okay, more than a few. But I can tell you, nobody compares to John!” John looked ready to balk, but the grip on his arm kept him still. With his other hand, Pierce caressed John’s cheek. “It’s not just the skill, and don’t get me wrong. He has that. In hoards. He can take you from zero to hundred in minutes. But it’s his _need to please_ … and that… that can’t be taught or bought. That’s what makes him the _best_. And I plan to keep him, forever. I am just allowing him a little time to find that this is definitely the best course of action for him.”

He stroked John’s face possessively, and then moved his hand down, his fingers caressing John’s shoulder through the clothes. “He has a scar here, you know?” he told Harold. “It looks so _hot_! But I have to say his best feature is his gorgeous ass…” Pierce’s hand grabbed John’s butt when he said that, right in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by all the elite guests.

Harold didn’t look at the people around him. He only had eyes for John’s face, that was twisted in discomfort and embarrassment, and he spoke before he could stop himself. “Stop it!”

He said it loud enough that it caused a sudden hush around them. Pierce’s turned his head and looked at him, bewildered.

“Excuse me?”

Harold wondered if he should backtrack, it would be the sensible thing to do. “Stop it.” Harold repeated, stepping forward. “You are making him uncomfortable.”

“Oh, am I?” Pierce made a show of squeezing John’s ass again. “So what? He is mine tonight. I can harass him, if that’s what I choose to do.”

“I said, _stop it_.” Harold’s voice had a thread of malice in it. He knew he sounded like Egret, but he had never denied that Egret was a part of him. Right now, he wanted to protect what he cared for and damn the consequences.

“Why should I? _He_ doesn’t mind. He won’t be here if he did.” Pierce let go of John and stepped closer to Harold as well, all traces of amusement gone from his face.

Harold could’ve laughed at how simple Pierce made it sound. Like human beings were just playthings you could buy and sell. “Just because you hired him, doesn’t mean he cares for you.”

Pierce laughed mirthlessly. “And you think he cares for _you_?”

Harold knew he didn’t manage to hide the flash of heartbreak on his face. That was too close to what Harold wanted, but he had come to terms with what he wanted and what was real in the last few months. “Fortunately, I don’t have a head as big as yours, Mr. Pierce.”

Pierce moved a step closer, until he loomed threateningly over Harold. Harold didn’t cover. He had faced men much more dangerous than an egotistical businessman. “And who are you to tell me how to treat my Companion anyway?” He asked, cruelly. “A sad, lonely, little man, who can’t even get a whore to fuck him, and you’re teaching _me_ how to behave?”

Pierce raised his hand and moved it to Harold’s shoulder to shove him away, but before he could do that, a hand gripped Pierce’s wrist suddenly, stopping it.

“Don’t you dare!” Harold almost didn’t recognize John’s voice, as full of icy anger as it was.

Pierce looked confused, as John shoved him back and got between Harold and him. “What?”

John kept his grip on Pierce’s hand, tightening it until Pierce winced and then let it go. “You know who is a sad, lonely man? You, Logan. You surround yourself with all these people, desperate for affection, but in the end, all you have is your power and wealth, and an empty, unlovable, heart.”

“I can’t believe that.” Pierce sounded more shocked than offended. “You signed the contract.”

“And now I am cancelling it. Don’t worry, you’ll get your money back.”

“You’ll regret it,” Pierce threatened, furious now. “You will regret insulting me in my own party. I will make sure you _never_ get another client.”

Harold couldn’t see John’s face, but his voice was full of contempt. “That’s not how it works, Logan. Companions choose their clients, not the other way around. And after today, you’re going to have black mark in the registry. No Companion will ever want to work with you. So really, it’s you who is going to regret this.”

John turned towards Harold then, facing away from Pierce. He didn’t look at Harold’s face, instead wrapping his arm around Harold’s waist and turning him towards the door. Behind them, he heard Pierce saying.

“I offered you to become my personal Companion. I offered you a permanent place in my household, and this is how you repay me?”

John said, loud enough for his voice to carry across the distance. “Thanks, Logan. But I would rather go to hell.”

* * *

 

Harold didn’t ask John where he was going, just followed him as he led him away from the building. Instead, he tried to make sense of the last few minutes.

John had sought out Harold’s company, had danced with him, and had publicly insulted his client, risking his already precarious position with Alliance Intelligence, and inviting the displeasure of the Guild. For Harold.

Not so long ago, John had also made it clear that he wasn’t interested in anything other than a professional relationship with Harold. It didn’t exactly add up.

Quite randomly, he thought about Nathan, and how very not-pleased he will be with Harold later for causing the exact social disaster that Nathan had been trying to avoid.

John led them to a hovercraft, which presumably belonged to him, and Harold got in without a complaint. He didn’t want to stay in this place, or this planet, any longer either. John inputted the co-ordinates for the shuttle bay, and settled down beside Harold, his arm no longer around Harold’s waist. Even though the weather was almost uncomfortable warm outside, and the environmental controls of the hovercraft were set adequately, Harold felt strangely cold at the loss of John’s warmth.

The silence between them was charged, but neither broke it for a while, both looking anywhere but at each other.

“Did you really mean that?” John spoke quietly, almost inaudible in the hum of the vehicle.

Before Harold could figure out what John was talking about, John turned around, his eyes finding Harold’s. Harold was taken aback by the _hurt_ obvious in them. “Do you really think I don’t care about you?”

Harold floundered at that, not having expected John to have heard it, or to _care_. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, Mr. Reese.” John’s eyes dimmed even more somehow, and Harold rushed to explain. “I just meant to emphasize that you are very professional about this, about your clients and your job, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

John looked away from Harold, out into the darkness of Persephone. Then he let out a humorless chuckle. “You know the first rule they teach us in the Guild? One before they begin teaching us how to even read or write; one on which the rest of a Companion’s training is built.”

John quieted down, and Harold didn’t know whether he was expected to give an answer. He was spared figuring it out when John spoke again, quietly, as if he was speaking to the night rather than to Harold. “It is to never fall for your client. _Never_.”

Harold held his breath at the dismay in John’s voice, waiting for something he dared not hope for. Then John turned towards Harold again, his expressions wide open and vulnerable. “I guess I have always been a terrible student.”

The air rushed into Harold’s lungs at the gasp. He saw John’s lips turned into a self-deprecating smile.

“Mr. Reese,” Harold started, not knowing where to go with that sentence, his world view rearranging drastically.

“I messed up, Harold. I realized it when you asked me to become your personal Companion. I realized anything you’re willing to give me will not be enough. I couldn’t do it to you, or to myself.” Some of Harold’s shock must have shown on his face, because John shook his head in amazement. “I thought you knew this. You _must_ have known this. Isn’t that why you stopped calling?”

John’s voice cracked in the end, and Harold suddenly felt like an ass. He reached out and grabbed John’s hand, clenching it in both his hands, and shook his head. “No! No, John. No.”

“Why?” It was just one word, but one full of so much doubt it made Harold’s heart break in pieces.

‘ _Why?’_ That’s what John had asked him once before too. A simple question, with a simple answer that Harold had been too much of a coward to give.

“Because I loved you.” He made himself say it this time, and seeing John all but jerk at it, disbelief obvious on his face. Not knowing how to fix this, not knowing what to say, Harold raised John’s hand clasped in his own up to his lips, kissing the back of it. “I loved you, and I thought you didn’t want me,” Harold confessed, finding some semblance of courage in wake of John’s. “I thought my… _feelings_ … were an imposition, and you were letting me down easy.”

Harold found it difficult to look at John’s bewildered face, so he looked down at their clasped hands. “I was hiring a Companion, Mr. Reese. I knew better than to expect affection. You had already given me more than I deserved. It wasn’t your fault I was greedy and wanted more.”

John’s continued silence made Harold nervous. Then, as he watched, John placed his other hand on Harold’s too. He looked up, finding John smiling a tentative smile.

“For a genius, you can be remarkably imperceptive sometimes.” Before Harold could protest, John continued. “Ask me again.”

John’s thumb stroked Harold’s hand, slowly, his smile turning bashful when Harold didn’t respond. “Ask me to be your personal Companion again, Harold.”

Harold’s heart thumped in his chest as he looked at John. “John—”

“Yes.” John said, before Harold even begun to form the sentence. He wasn’t prepared for the answer, nor was he prepared for the way John lurched forward, angling Harold’s head and smashing their lips together. He kissed Harold like a desperate man, someone who had been longing for it for far too long; the yearning inside Harold’s heart resonated with it, and he kissed back as enthusiastically.

It wasn’t Harold’s first kiss. It wasn’t even his best one. Somehow, it was still the only one that mattered.

When John pulled away, he didn’t go too far. Instead he pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily.

“This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” John asked.

Harold’s brain was still too hazy due to the kiss to respond properly. He only managed to make an inquisitive sound.

“This.” John’s fingers stroked Harold’s nape, as he pressed a feather light kiss to Harold’s nose. “You aren’t going to convince yourself that you are somehow taking advantage of me?”

Harold considered it for a moment. If someone had asked him six months ago, his answer would’ve been yes. Hell, even two days ago that would’ve been his answer. But now…

Harold huffed in amusement, the warm breath puffing over John’s face. “You just publically insulted a man as wealthy and influential as me, if not more. I think it’s safe to assume that I could never make you do anything you didn’t want.”

John pressed their foreheads together harder, as if trying to merge them together. “You could never ask something of me that I didn’t want, Harold.”

What was Harold supposed to say to that, except kiss John again? If the way John responded was anything to go by, he wholeheartedly appreciated it.

As they climbed on Harold’s shuttle that would take them back to Osiris, to their _home_ , Harold had a fleeting thought that he must thank Nathan, as insufferable as he would be aside, for being the catalyst for bringing Harold and John together… twice.

Then his attention was thoroughly distracted by the man beside him. Nathan would probably have approved of that too.

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S WRITTEN.  
> It took me months and months to write and it's my longest Rinch fic. Please let me know if you guys enjoyed it, and what you enjoyed in it. Your feedback is the only and the best reward one can ask for <3\. Rinch fandom has always been such a delight and source of joy for me.  
> (I may, MAY, write an nsfw sequel to this sometime later, because it sorta feels unfair that I write an entire story about escort!John and don't let him do escort-stuff to Harold that he really really wants to do :P <3)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: An Alluring Companion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16705324) by [mekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/pseuds/mekare)




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